


across the court

by sannlykke



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Blind Date, Character Death, Day At The Beach, Demons, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, F/F, Flame of Recca AU, Hell, Historical Fantasy, Holidays, Humor, Inuyasha Au, KNBxNBA, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Post-Canon, Prose Poem, Reincarnation, Role Reversal, Separations, Stream of Consciousness, Studying, Summer Vacation, Urban Fantasy, Youkai, hanakotoba, idk lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>drabble dump for rarepairs i feel like writing</p><p>17. mayuaka: 3-sentence drabbles of various AUs, some romantic and some...not quite<br/>18. liuhimu: liu helps himuro with his mandarin homework<br/>19. nijiakamayu: mayuzumi may complain all he wants, but this isn't half bad of a start to the weekend (knbxnba)<br/>20. akakaga: kagami and the perils of kanji-based magic (flame of recca au)<br/>21. akahimu: some say a there is a demon living in the woods</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fish wars (mayuhimu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> domestic bickering, kind of
> 
> himuro doesn't know what kusaya is

“What the hell is that thing on the table?”

Chihiro doesn’t bother to move, eyes trained on his newest acquisition from the bookstore. It’s not like he can understand spoken English all that well yet, especially in his boyfriend’s rapid delivery. But he hears  _what_  and  _table_  and that’s enough for him to know. “Dinner.”

“And here I was, thinking that you’d hid a dead body somewhere.”

This time he does look up, peering over the book in a deader expression than normal at the man throwing his keys on the table. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Tatsuya looks like he’s about to chuck the plate at his face. "Very funny. You’ve never had kusaya before?”

“No.” A pause, then a sigh. “I wish you’d have let me cook today.”

“Whoa, I thought we were supposed to split the chores.” Chihiro sits up from the couch, stretching, and reluctantly puts his novel down. The living room is tiny and still cluttered with unopened boxes, and he crosses it in a couple steps to the equally tiny kitchen. “You always make a mess when you cook.”

“Then you’d clean it up, won’t you? Splitting the chores.” Tatsuya flashes him one of his brilliant smiles, and he stops. Sometimes he wonders how the hell this relationship even started, and this is one of those times when he’s looking at this smile too beautiful to call his own. Like some scene from when a mediocre light novel protagonist has an epiphany about his relationship with a stunning girl and muses on the surreality of it all. He thinks back to that year he went abroad to America for a summer and--

He frowns. There’s definitely a hand sneaking towards the plate with malicious intent. Chihiro darts in at the last moment and snatches his kusaya away from harm, staring accusingly as he does so. “That’s so unfair.”

“Didn’t know you started stealing my lines either.”

“You’re hotter when you shut up.” Then Chihiro leanes in to  _actually_  shut him up, mouth-first. He tries to slide the plate back to the far side of the table, but finds that it actually takes a really good sense of balance to do anything while making out next to the sharp corners of their new dining table.  _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and starts really going for it.

(It doesn’t help that Tatsuya already has a hand in his hair and grabs away at his scalp, and Chihiro feels hot despite the air conditioning on full blast and they’re barely a minute into doing this and he feels another arm snake around his waist and into his jeans and his mind just  _stops_.)

There is a crash.

Chihiro breaks away first, annoyed at how even in this disheveled state Tatsuya still looks impressively put-together with that fucking smirk on his face, though the unmistakable redness is a victory on Chihiro’s part. He warily sidesteps a piece of porcelain. “Fuck.”

“Oops.”

“You did that  _on purpose_.”

“Hey, I’m not kissing you if you eat that--that...is that even a Japanese thing?”

Chihiro fixes Tatsuya a glare and they end up cleaning the floor together. Dinner is beef-flavored instant ramen, and Chihiro spends the rest of the night furiously lecturing Kagami over text on his brother’s terrible,  _Americanized_  dietary problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok is this even something people ship  
> sorry if it's ooc??? the idea came to me like an hour ago and it wouldn't leave me alone, so


	2. three lives (akakaga)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kagami gets bitten by a snake
> 
> (au based on a popular historical soap opera-y chinese bl novel about a snake demon and a boy. the original is three big volumes long so this is the extremely condensed, still very soap opera-y also unedited version)
> 
> kagami's original name in the knb pilot chapter was akiwara shigehiro :) now i wonder who that turned into in the actual manga

“Help! The young master’s been bitten!”

“Bitten? Where–”

“A snake, as big as a pillar–someone  _go get the master_ –”

There is a boy, and he is crying. The sound echoes through the finely decorated courtyard and ornately carved tiles, through brick and mortar and the little bamboo grove where a hole in the wall is hidden underneath imported rocks. Akashi watches the frenzied humans from behind the greenery.

He hates the sound of crying.

His clothes are wet from the bowl of hot tea that the boy had spilled on him earlier. In hindsight he wouldn’t have been so hasty to bite, as that had probably been an accident.

But it doesn’t matter.

From the moment Akashi tasted the boy’s blood, he knew; even if he hadn’t bitten the boy, he had already been marked to die.

The crying multiplies, intermingled with angry shouts. He can just barely make out the wooden carving staked near the steps of the house and the throng of servants surrounding the blind young master. Someone has already brought medicine, a mixture of herbs and mud that won’t be enough to last the boy through the night.

Akashi watches the boy look in his direction, unseeing. His eyes are red.

 

“Why did you save me?”

“It does not concern you.”

He feels a tug on his sleeve. The boy (Akiwara, he’s learned in the past few minutes) is sitting upright on his bed, hesitantly touching the place on his calf where he’d been bit. The swelling has gone down, and the wound has closed.

“Thank you.”

“If that is all then, I’ll be going now.”

“Wait.”

_No_ , Akashi wants to say, but he hears a note of pleading in Akiwara’s voice. He turns around. “What? It wasn’t…you couldn’t help being blind.”

“I…” The grip on his sleeve tightens. Akiwara is looking at him, really looking now.

And then Akashi also sees. “No. You will regret it, you and I both. Good day.”

 

_Humans are so foolish._

“They are,” Midorima nods, but there is a part of Akashi that says,  _he’s humoring you_. They sit on a huge banyan overlooking the Akiwara household, invisible to the people bustling about within. “Yet you return week after week, month after month.”

“It would be a waste if he’d had another accident, would it not?”

“It’s a wonder to me you bothered to expend so much energy on saving one of them,” Midorima says a little huffily, like he had just been rebuffed after offering proper advice. “How old is he now?”

“Eighteen.”

They watch the boy talking to the housekeeper, showing her a scarlet silk ribbon that had come undone from his clothing. He laughs, embarrassed, as she ties it back on for him, all the while asking where the master had bought it from.  _From someone I like_ , Akiwara answers quietly, pink in the face.

“And how long will you keep returning?”

They sit there in silence, scales shimmering red and green and wound around the tree, until night comes and the last of the light is extinguished from the lamps.

 

“Can we stay like this…forever?”

“Don’t say something like that that so awkwardly, it lacks impact.” A pause, then, quietly, “And those are not words you say in a careless manner, Akiwara.”

“I know that.” They sit in bed together, shuffling, wondering. Even now Akiwara is still nearsighted, and he gropes around in the dark for things unsaid. “I’m not a kid anymore. Akashi–”

Akashi looks away. “Perhaps I was wrong to have saved you.”

“ _You_  were the one who bit me in the first place.” His temper flares a little, reminding Akashi that despite the hardships Akiwara has endured, the upbringing of the young master remains. He smiles as the other tilts his head in a pout.

“I was.”

_But that doesn’t mean anything_. And he says no more.

 

(He had wanted to say a great deal more, Akashi realizes, on one cold winter morning when even the plum blossoms had frozen overnight. He tastes the air and finds it vaguely lacking, and it is not until he comes to his usual door of the hole in the wall and hears the wailing of servants that he can find it in himself to feel.)

 

 

Akashi does not go to the funeral.

 

 

 

 

He is in a desolate city, a sprawling oasis at the edge of the vast Gobi, and he finds what he thinks he is is looking for.

(Akashi can hear Midorima snort, in his memories– _Cross the sea? You would not cross even a bridge for anyone you consider beneath yourself_.)

A smile caresses his lips. He wonders how Midorima is doing, now, perhaps hanging around the temple where that sharp-eyed young apprentice lived. He does not know if he will see any of his acquaintances again.

But in front of him is a parade, and in the midst of the parade is a man. It is a welcoming party, of wars bravely fought in some far away land. In a hundred years the sands will sweep away the remnants of this hollow city, but for now the people celebrate.

“General, we welcome you…”

The General is thirty and imposing, and his warm smile wins favors among the people. Akashi does not mistake those scarlet eyes as he makes his way to the forefront, and he stands tall where the man could see.

Dust swirls and settles between them as the General rides past slowly, stopping to a halt beside Akashi. The General looks at him, dark hair framing his face. Akashi wants to touch him, to make sure, and it’s all he can do to restrain himself from reaching out.

“You. Are you a foreigner?” The General asks. His voice is smooth as honey, vastly different from Akiwara’s, and Akashi can almost taste his past. This is the second life, the life not yet cut short, though it could be at any second. Akashi does not understand the human custom of bowing, but he remembers the movement and does so now, awkwardly. The man seems to have noticed something. “Have we met?”

_Yes_ , Akashi thinks, the word catching in his throat, refusing to budge.  _Yes, eighty years and a country and an ocean ago_. But there is no sign of recognition in this man who had been Akiwara, whom he had let go without a word.  _I was wrong. I regret now, and it is foolish of me, but I do._

But how could any of those words escape his lips? He nods briefly. “I am. Congratulations on your victory.”

The General smiles at him, but all he feels is nothing.

 

"Why do you seek an audience?" One of the soldiers asks, timid and trembling. 

"Get out of my way."

"We do not allow uninvited strangers here," the other says, brandishing his sword. Akashi stares at him until he too wilts and moves aside.

"I am not a stranger."

 

It is not the way of his kind to ask, to beg, to forgive. But.

Akashi stands in front of the door, his chest tight.

_Was this not why I tried to leave in the first place? To not get caught among the whims of humans?_

And yet…

“You loved him,” the General says, from the other side of the room. This is the first and last time they will meet here. “But I am not him.”

Both of them know he is too proud to admit it. Akashi stares at the wall and whispers words he does not believe. “If I touch you, anywhere, your hand, your face, you will remember.”

“I will remember, perhaps, and still I will not be him. Not in this life.”

“I know.” His hands curl into fists. 

_I don’t._

 

 

 

 

Akashi does not know how old he is; if asked, he might smile and shrug, or tell you he can’t remember when it all began. It wouldn’t be a lie, really.

If he is tired, he has been tired for a long time. 

This time, though, he holds on tightly. The scent is in the air when he leaves Chang’an for the last time, and he follows it through the winding rivers and spiraling mountains, to a nameless port and across the sea. To home.

But home is not a place. 

Home is the young man he sees strapping firewood to his back, running a hand among the lotus flowers in the pond as he heads into the little cottage at the edge of town. He is a little shorter this time, and there is a scar running along the side of his right arm that hadn’t been there in the past two lives.

The air tastes sweet, but Akashi dares not approach.

It’s kind of ironic, that he’s walked for so long, and now…

“Hey, sis, will you check the well for me? I think I might’ve dropped the bucket inside…” 

“Come on, you always do that…”

His voice stings Akashi's eyes, and he sees part of a name. _Kagami_. The young man smiles apologetically as he rushes out again, heading towards the forest.  _No, wait…_

Akashi sees the rock under his foot, but before he can call out Kagami has already stepped on it, and he slips. 

“–!”

There is a splash, and Akashi is there in an instant.

He pulls Kagami up by a hand, dragging him ashore before the water claimed him–though the pondwater came barely to his chest. The man gasped, spitting out mud as Akashi whacked him in the back, drawing out more water.

“A…are you alright?”

The words feel foreign on his tongue. How long has it been since he had last spoken as a human?

“I–who–”

Kagami looks at him blearily, blinking, and Akashi realizes he is cradling the man’s head close. “I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“No, I–you saved my life there, I mean. Really. Thanks.” Before Akashi can move away, Kagami sits up, shaking his head. “Shit–sorry, did I get you wet too?”

“It’s fine.” Akashi stands up, hurriedly. Maybe he was wrong; there is no place for him here, where the humans are expanding. The ground smells of change, and he is not entirely sure he can afford the years anymore. He looks down at his clothes, wet from the pond, and sees a pink lotus petal stuck on a sleeve. “If you are fine, I will leave now.”

“Hey.” 

Kagami’s hand is on his shoulder.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

_Do not answer. Do not listen. You will be disappointed; were two times not enough?_

He half-turns, face carefully masked into a polite smile. _One last time_. “Perhaps. Where would I have had the pleasure of knowing you from?”

Kagami grins hesitantly. “I don’t know exactly, but I feel like … I might’ve, from somewhere long ago.”

“Oh?”

“When I was in the water, I heard something … ” Kagami breathes in, and Akashi sees him glancing briefly at the frayed, faded ribbon tied around his wrist. Hundreds of years ago, it had been the color of Kagami's eyes. “A name. When you grabbed me–”

“When I–”

“Akashi.”

Kagami’s voice is not melting honey or boisterous breeze, but Akashi can feel it all the same, waves frozen in time crashing against his chest and face. He whispers, “What did you just say?”

“Your name is Akashi, isn’t it?” Kagami tilts his head, almost shyly. “Can you tell me where we met? I think I’m starting to remember a little, but–hey, um, are you alright?”

"Like I said before, I am fine," Akashi says, as he places a hand over Kagami's on his shoulder. "Please don't worry about me."

_I just hate the sound of crying._


	3. melting (garciraki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mermaid/yuki-onna modern day au  
> the kind of mermaid that can walk around on land when they want i guess idk dont think too much abt it orz

“I swear,” Alex says, sprawled out like a cat all over Masako’s couch. “Tokyo can be just as hot as LA sometimes.”

“That’s one less place I’ll be visiting, then.”

The air conditioning was on full blast as per usual for the summer. Masako sits at their dining table and chews, slowly, on a strawberry, and Alex watches her dip the spoon back into the parfait container. It’s actually kind of endearing how much Masako eats during this time of the year, she thinks.

“Come on, you’re not  _actually_  gonna melt. Unless that’s like, one other thing you haven’t told me about yourself.” 

“I’m surprised the desert weather doesn’t dry  _you_  out” is the reply she gets. Masako is looking at her primly, but Alex can detect a smile tugging at the yuki-onna’s lips. It’s not exactly true—in this air she already feels a little scratchy, and it’s definitely not as bad as some of the days she’s had. Which was, in retrospect, one of the reasons why she moved, first closer to the beach and then to Japan. But that hadn’t been the  _only_  reason.

Alex flips over the couch ungracefully, landing on her feet with a thump. She pads over to the table and sits there, smirking. “There’s cream on your nose.”

“Hm—?”

Masako’s eyes widen at the sudden warmth on her nose, where Alex had leaned in and licked the bit of sweetness away. “There, see? You didn’t melt.”

“Warn me next time,” she grumbles, and sets the container down. Masako’s fingers are unsurprisingly chillier than the room temperature on Alex’s skin, and it reminds her of the Arctic sea from long ago travels. There is a hint of a blush on her face when she stands up. “And you already know that. Wash this for me, will you?”

Alex pouts, but takes the container. “Is that all?”

“Not yet.”

She watches Masako cup her hands above her head, and in seconds she feels something light dusting her face. Snowflakes perch on her glasses and melt, leaving tiny droplets on the bridge of her nose and the edge of her cheekbones. Somehow it’s not as cold as she remembers snow to be—but her hair is getting increasingly damp and both of them are grinning and well, maybe that  _is_  how it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might revisit this au in another drabble o/?


	4. night parade (nijihimu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hbd himuro!! :'3 also happy halloween so yall get a modern youkai au
> 
> i wrote this in like 2.5 hours w/o editing just to get it in before his birthday is over here lmao so sorry about the length + if there are any mistakes orz

**I. Pickles**

 

“You know,” Shuuzou says quietly, halfway through their first meal at In-N-Out, “This isn’t bad at all.”

“You mean for American food or for human food?”

“Both, I guess.” 

It’s a slow Wednesday, and there aren’t that many people in the place to begin with. Tatsuya knows none of the humans are paying attention because they simply couldn’t see. “Told you this road trip was a good idea.”

Shuuzou snorts into his iced tea. “Right. After that airport security fiasco--”

“It’s not my fault I can’t fly like you, isn’t it?” Tatsuya says, smiling innocently like he hadn’t just tied up half a dozen security guards at Narita Airport and left them somewhere wholly conspicuous barely fourteen hours ago. Behind them, on the screen, a news anchor walks through a segment about possible mutant spiders in Japan. “Although we could try buying tickets next time.”

“We should,” Shuuzou mutters, and eats a fry drenched in sauce. He leaves his pickles in the container and pushes it, surreptitiously, towards Tatsuya.

 

* * *

 

 

**II. Mirror, Mirror**

 

The first thing Tatsuya does when he sees the large, ornate, sinister-looking mirror leaning against their couch is, of course, ask if Akashi had been by.

Shuuzou looks up from his paper. “Yeah, he did. Says he’ll be back later to pick it up.”

Tatsuya doesn’t buy it. “Don’t you remember what happened last time he left that book here?”

“Hey, of course I remember.” Shuuzou moves aside to make room, his lips pursed. “ _I_  had to clean that mess up.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“...Questioning him is worse, huh?”

“You can put it that way.”

(Neither of them bother to go near the mirror, even when the strange, guttural sounds start coming from it. Three quarters through a NBA finals rerun Tatsuya comments on the voice sounding  _awfully_  familiar, but Shuuzou gives him a Look that tells him no, it  _shouldn’t_  sound anything like that one annoying onmyouji who kept following them a couple months ago. 

In any case, Akashi comes back the next morning, and doesn’t comment on their dark circles as he whisks the object away.)

 

* * *

 

**III. UFO**

 

“Shuu, you’re on Reddit.”

“I’m on what?”

Tatsuya points at his laptop screen. “The Japanese subreddit. Some Brit caught you on video.”

“What--” Shuuzou squints at the words as he moves closer, reading from behind Tatsuya’s shoulder. They should probably move to the bed, but it’s plenty comfortable on the couch, and Tatsuya’s more willing to let him cuddle here, for some reason. “Tatsuya, what the hell is this website? I can’t read English.”

“It says this was taken two days ago. You went to see your sister, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” He reaches over, putting a hand over Tatsuya’s on the touchpad. “Can you show me the video again? Shit, I hope they didn’t get my face.”

“They didn’t, but listen to this--”

Tatsuya clicks on play, and their ears are assaulted with an excited series of screeching from the human taking the video. Shuuzou can see a blurry form flit past the camera screen, vaguely striped and feathered. “Well, that’s one less route I can take now.”

That earns a laugh from Tatsuya, who leans back into his shoulder. “It’s so blurry I’m sure they’ll forget about it soon enough. One of the commenters said they thought you were a pheasant.”

“......”

“And this other guy said you were a  _zhen_ \--”

He bristles, and a low hissing fills the room. “I’m look  _nothing_  like fucking Hanamiya! I’m--I’m not even a  _bird_.”

“I know that, Shuu.” Tatsuya pats his arm reassuringly, and it’s enough for the noise to subside. “I should tell you to be more careful--”

“You’re even less careful than I am,” Shuuzou grumbles, and wraps his arms around Tatsuya’s body tightly. He can still feel the slight bump of an old scar, longer than the length of his hand, underneath the thin shirt Tatsuya wears. It’s one of those things he’s never asked about, that Tatsuya just shrugs off with a smile whenever he catches Shuuzou staring. Maybe he’ll learn about it one day, maybe not, but the time is definitely not now. 

Then Tatsuya puts an arm over his, and Shuuzou suddenly feels a little hot. Even after this long, it’s still hard to shake the feeling off when he knows what’s coming. “Hey, let’s go to bed. I think my legs have gone to sleep.”

“Whatever you say,” Tatsuya replies evenly, though Shuuzou can detect the slightest hint of a smile in his voice.

 

(Later, when he traces the scar in bed with a finger, reverently, he thinks to himself that he’d rather never learn.)

 

* * *

**IV. The Parade**

 

Despite what humans believe, Hyakki Yagyo isn’t inherently designed to devour or spirit away mortals. It is, as Tatsuya has come to know after a couple centuries, more or less a giant drunken party of youkai wandering the streets. Whatever harm happens, he surmises, is a side-effect of multiple bad hangovers. 

And Shuuzou isn’t overfond of joining, to nobody’s surprise. 

“Come  _on_ , Nijimuracchi, you haven’t been to one in like what, fifty years? Akashicchi says--”

“No,” Shuuzou replies instantly, slamming the door in Kise’s face almost as soon as he’d opened it. “And don’t call me that.”

“Shuu, are you sure you don’t want to go?”

He glances back at Tatsuya, eyes widening slightly. “Wait, don’t tell me  _you_  want to go.”

“Why are you surprised? I went with Taiga and his friends the year before last.” Tatsuya looks down at his yukata, a soft lavender with thin white stripes. “They don’t really care if you dress up or not anymore, you know.”

Shuuzou takes a deep breath, then glances out the peephole to make sure Kise is already gone. “You sure about that?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“That’s not very convincing.” But Tatsuya could see he is on the edge. It doesn’t take another five seconds before Shuuzou lets it out. “...Fine. Only for you.”

“I’m touched,” Tatsuya teases, as Shuuzou mutters something about traps and costumes and  _these annoying kids_ , a touch of red brushing his cheeks. Still, he squeezes Tatsuya’s hand as he passes him to go back into the bedroom they share.

 

The moon hangs low and large when they emerge from their apartment, and the sky is already full of creatures. The human streets, too, are the same.

“Wait, are those humans?” Shuuzou asks incredulously, observing the parade of costumed children walking hand-in-hand with their parents. Soft lights guard each house, pumpkin-shaped, ghost-shaped, and more. “Is today that--I don’t remember, that American holiday you told me about--Hallomas?”

“It’s Halloween,” Tatsuya gently corrects, as they melt into the crowd forming at one end of the street. People are everywhere--ghouls, cats, vampires, costumes Shuuzou has never seen before. He can sense other youkai in the group, though the human presence is overwhelming. “People dress up and ask around for candy. It’s been getting more popular in Japan lately--which is why we’re doing it later this year, I suppose. We’re less noticeable.”

Shuuzou shakes his head. “Last time we went out for this thing, it was just downtown that was crowded.”

They follow the crowd for a little while, splitting off when the humans found their bus stops and taxi cabs and rail stations. Youkai on this night make little use of those human inventions--there would be enough fun without intervention.

Soon enough the rowdy noises of singing and drums reach them, and round the corner comes the parade. Akashi is in front, his robes white and crimson-lined, and his steps never touch the ground. Behind him, an assortment of lights and youkai, dancing forms and jugs of rice wine follow. The number of their own have diminished, Shuuzou can see, but it is still as rowdy as ever. 

Tatsuya pulls on his arm gently, indicating to the crowd, and he nods.

 

_Hey, there, if this is a never-ending song,_

_Who would sing along with you?_

 

 

Kise is leading a new song, and Murasakibara and Takao back him up. Soon those from the Seirin shrine have joined in, then Touou, and soon everyone is yelling the lyrics, tune be damned. It’s not as if the humans are going to file a noise complaint against them, Tatsuya’s glance backward seems to tell Shuuzou as he too starts to sing along. _Come on and join._

 _That's true,_  Shuuzou tells himself, and he finds he is not as resigned as he thought he would be.

 

_Hey, there, if this is a never-ending journey,_

_Who would you take with you?_

 

 

Their hands remain firmly linked as the moon climbs higher and higher into the night, as if bolstered by their voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hyakki yagyo](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyakki_Yagy%C5%8D) \- a concept in japanese mythology where youkai come out every summer and have a parade, usually consisting of a hundred types of youkai. 
> 
> bonus to you if you can guess what kind of youkai they are 8)  
> (hint...ok more of an answer...for nijimura and himuro at least i was inspired by [this au by kimidori](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=manga&illust_id=52363812) on pixiv. it isn't nijihimu but its still swell pls read it if u can)


	5. willow (liuhimu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "One would say a landscape composed by a painter." - _Daily life in China on the Eve of the Mongol Invasion, 1250-1276_

Liu’s only been here once, maybe five or six years ago. West Lake is still the sprawling shimmering mass that he remembers, with too many tourists crowding around its edges like multicolored ants. Summer is almost at an end, and still there is no end to the flow. After all, Hangzhou is a place of poets and dreams.

“That’s how it is here,” he says, almost apologetically, but Himuro only smiles and touches his hand.

“It’s fine.”

The slender branches of the willows act only as a partial shield for the lingering heat, though anything is better than nothing. Beyond the bend is another path, and another. Liu’s strides are long, definitive; he thinks about the bridge, from years and years ago. Beside him, Himuro keeps up with his every step.

“This place is beautiful,” he murmurs, finally, when they are alone. 

It is no small feat to get away from the mountains of people that pour in every August. Liu smiles faintly, and reaches out to brush a willow leaf from Himuro’s shoulder. A little raft shoots across the water behind him, leaving ripples that carry to shore.  _So are you_ , Liu wants to say, but before he does so there’s already a hand on his shoulder, pressing down.

They kiss behind a bending, wizened willow, the slant of the afternoon sun drawing shadows across their faces. Himuro tastes like the summer rain, like thunder, and Liu thinks about Leifeng Pagoda, and lovers lost beneath the roaring waters.  _Maybe this is how they felt_ , he thinks.

Himuro draws a finger over his face, tracing the length of his jawline, and they only break apart to breathe, begrudgingly. The waters shimmer a mere couple meters away, blue and beckoning.

“Did you know,” he says, out of breath, “In Chinese,  _willow_  rhymes with  _stay_?”

“Now you’re getting all poetic on me,” Himuro smiles, and it’s gentle and teasing and too unfairly captivating even in the scenery around them. Liu feels a little embarrassed, but hell—he’ll take what he can.

He’ll just have to find someplace even more jawdropping—sunset on the bridge, yes, that's what he'll do—so he can steal another kiss back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as if i needed an excuse to write about liu taking himuro around on scenery porn trips
> 
> leifeng ("thunder peak") pagoda - references the legend of the white snake where the snake is imprisoned beneath the tower after being separated from her lover.
> 
> 'liu' is actually a homophone for 'stay' too so like what gives, hmm 8')


	6. 567 mph (mayuniji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's this hot guy next to Nijimura on his flight to LA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, businessman!niji & light novel writer!mayuyu meet on a plane...
> 
> i'm sorry there is No Plot just airplane necking and probably ooc (please don't imitate this it's a federal violation and mayuzumi is Awful)

Sometime shortly after their passing of the international date line, Nijimura Shuuzou wakes up realizing that there is actually someone in the seat next to his.

(Like, it’s not as if he had actually been paying attention - he’d conked out right the moment after boarding because he’d stayed up all last night typing out presentation slides for the conference he’d been forced into attending. It’s nice that he gets to visit LA again, catch up on a few things, but other than that - )

He’s got his face buried in a book, the guy sitting next to him. It looks like one of those books Nijimura’s seen his sister read before - colorful covers, even more colorful characters.  _Huh_. Nijimura usually isn’t in the habit of checking out his seatmates, but if the guy hadn’t shifted in the seat slightly it probably would’ve never occurred to him that there was someone there. And - from the parts of him Nijimura could see, anyway - he’s kind of cute, to be honest.

Wait, no.

“I really didn’t get enough sleep,” Nijimura mutters to himself as he pulls up his laptop from underneath the seat. There’s still a couple slides he should probably edit; the conference is going to be held in English, and at this point he really can’t afford to fuck it up. If anything, he’d have to call up Tatsuya when he lands for a few pointers. 

The business cabin is quiet, not quite as filled up as Nijimura had imagined it would be. Every other light has already been dimmed except the one next to him, and he taps on the side of his seat restlessly as the laptop starts up. It occurs to him that he is actually, well, kind of hungry. He can’t see any flight attendants in his line of sight.

There isn’t any other way about it, then. He softly taps on the plastic separating himself from the other person. “Hey, sorry - do you know if they’ve passed out the meals yet?”

The guy pries his face out of the book reluctantly, and in doing so Nijimura spots the name-tag pinned to the front of his shirt. It reads ‘Mayuzumi Chihiro’ and ‘Anime Expo 16′ underneath. “Yeah, two hours ago. You were completely knocked out.”

Nijimura rubs his temple. “I know. Shit, I’m aching all over.”

Mayuzumi shrugs, but he’s sliding the novel back into his backpack. “You’re the one in the aisle seat.” 

“Right.” Thankfully the seat is big enough for him to get out without having to maneuver over any fallen luggage or a couple of other people. Nijimura stretches a little, yawns, then returns to his seat. On impulse - or disorientation - he asks, “You want anything? I’m gonna see if they have any leftovers.”

“Actually,” Mayuzumi says, prodding at the bulging seat pocket in front of him, “They ran out. I asked earlier. There’s a brownie and a banana in there, though, if you want it.”

Nijimura frowns. “They _ran out of food_?”

“Probably bullshit,” Mayuzumi agrees. The yellow light reflects weirdly off his hair - it’s some kind of silvery grey color, Nijimura decides, as he sits down and fishes through the seat pocket for said foodstuffs. “But they didn’t look too happy when I asked.”

“Huh.” The banana is still kind of greenish, but Nijimura can’t afford to care that much about the state of airplane fare when he’s this hungry. He’s on his second bite when he notices Mayuzumi is still looking at him. “So...Mayuzumi-san? Anime Expo?”

“I’m a writer,” Mayuzumi replies, but doesn’t offer anything more substantial than that. There’s a small smile teetering at the edge of his lips that shouldn’t look as endearing to Nijimura as it does. “You’re giving me a hell of a weird look, you know.”

He’s not very good with polite smiles, but Nijimura tries nonetheless. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

“You know, the ‘I’ve only been talking to him for five minutes but I already want to bone him’ look.”

Thankfully most of the cabin seems to be asleep or otherwise preoccupied, but it doesn’t stop Nijimura from very unceremoniously dropping the half-eaten banana onto his keyboard. “I.. _.what?_ ”

“Am I wrong?”

“You’re very...” He struggles to find the right words, but gives up as soon as he realizes it’s no use. “Straightforward. Rude. Whatever. Who the hell  _says_  that?”

“You’re not denying it either, huh.” Mayuzumi’s smile widens, and Nijimura wishes he could bury himself into the metal below. “Hey, you’re pretty hot too.”

“I can’t believe you.” He looks up at the faded cabin lights, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or not. “I’m way too tired for this.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Fuck you.” It takes him about three seconds to realize what he’s said, and Nijimura exhales in defeat. This would not be the worst he’s done, in any case. “Alright, come here.”

“...You’re serious?”

Nijimura frowns and grabs Mayuzumi’s wrist; the other man doesn’t pull away, but there is a hint of confusion there that wasn’t present before. He hesitates. “Course I am.”

“Well,” Mayuzumi says, an eyebrow raised, “I suppose this is a first. I have a better idea, though.”

 

 

 

 

(”They won’t notice,” he’d said, and Nijimura is inclined to agree before the combined haze of exhaustion and jetlag dissipates and he comes to his senses about necking inside a lavatory abroad a moving metal death contraption six miles above the Pacific Ocean.)

And that’s how Nijimura finds himself squished inside a place meant for one average-sized person, his body pressed against Mayuzumi’s as he feels the other shut the latch behind him.

His actual hunger is forgotten once Mayuzumi moves in on him, and Nijimura’s thankful for the small space for once. Otherwise, he reasons as he moves a hand up the other’s shirt, otherwise -

“You know,” Mayuzumi says a little later, as Nijimura is fiddling with his zipper while his ass is parked on the counter, “I was lying - about the food. There’s still plenty.”

“I knew it,” Nijimura sighs against his neck, where even in the shitty lighting he can already see his handiwork blossoming against pale skin. He tugs at Mayuzumi’s pants, which are getting a little snug. “This - this isn’t the sort of experiment for inspiration, right?“

“Whatever you think it is I write - ” Mayuzumi begins, but he’s cut off by a sharp rapping on the door. Both of them immediately tense up. A muffled voice starts outside.

“Hey! You’ve taken enough time in there!“ 

“Shut up, I’m taking a shit!” Mayuzumi yells back, a little too loudly, and Nijimura has to press his face into the other’s chest to stifle his choking laughter. Moments later, there is another knock. “I said - “

“THIS IS THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT. IT IS AGAINST FEDERAL REGULATIONS FOR THE LAVATORY TO BE OCCUPIED BY MORE THAN ONE PERSON AT ONCE. OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY - ”

 _Fuck_.

 

 

 

 

“I am,” Nijimura says, eyes closed and sprawled all over his seat in the wake of their adventure, “never doing that again. Ever.”

“Hey, at least it worked, Nijimura.”

Five seconds pass before he decides to reach over and flick Mayuzumi on the forehead, earning him a soft yelp. “Don’t talk to me.”

And then, “Wait, when the hell did I tell you my name?”

“Flight attendant said it.” Nijimura could definitely hear the smirk in his voice. He wonders just exactly how someone like this could actually be so invisible that a trained flight attendant hadn’t caught him sneaking out while Nijimura himself was being reprimanded for “having too much fun with the lavatory equipment.” It's probably a good thing the lights are still dimmed, otherwise he could probably see just how red he is from the screen reflection.

“I’m never living this down if people find out, you know.”

“It’s not like I know anyone you do.” Mayuzumi points lazily, his other hand already reaching for his unfinished novel. “Also, there’s still banana mush on your laptop.”

“...”

Nijimura rips open a packet of inflight headphones and proceeds to ignore Mayuzumi for the rest of the flight, though when they land and disperse he finds himself with an extra slip of paper in his hand with an email address and number scribbled hastily on it. Mayuzumi is nowhere to be seen.

“Got it,” he murmurs to himself as he stuffs it inside his pocket, aware that there is a similar missing strip of notebook paper inside his laptop bag. Perhaps he would have to make a trip to the convention after all, to pick up a little something for his siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lifted the attendant yelling part out of an actual novel bc i have no idea what they actually say if this happens. kudos if u can figure out which one (it's very trashy.)
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	7. four seasons (akakise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i love boys with flowers what can i say?? absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how did i remember five-sentence stories being easier than this. because it isn't?? (i cheated on one of them) this is cheesy as fuck but whatever
> 
> happy (kind of belated in my timezone) birthday akashi o/

**i. himawari**

 

Every day, for several weeks in the summer, Akashi would arrive home from practice and see a single sunflower on his doorstep, addressed to him without a signature. His father doesn’t know about this; the butler talks about installing another security camera, and the servants whisper excitedly about trying to catch the admirer. In the end, none of their plans come to fruition as the deliveries stop abruptly around the time school starts again. 

Akashi keeps the flowers.

(A year later, his maid is still finding dried golden petals in corners of the young master’s room.)

 

**ii. shion**

 

Autumn is charming and beautiful, especially in Kyoto. Akashi hates it. 

A sprig of aster shows up on his desk one day, on the day Akashi loves the least. Mibuchi makes to ask him about it, but walks away with his mouth shut when he sees the look on his captain’s face. 

He goes to the rooftop and makes a long call; later, when Mayuzumi comes down, he is complaining vociferously about terrible shoujo romances.

 

**iii. tsubaki**

 

It’s not quite snowing yet in Tokyo, though they might as well be completely snowed under with the look on Kise’s face.

“You okay?,” Nakamura asks him after the quarter-finals, “We gotta be in top shape for Rakuzan next game—“

“I know,” Kise says, his face still miserable; it kind of reminds Nakamura of the face he made after the Touou game last year, “It’s alright, I’m fine.”

When Kaijo returns from the court (106-101), there are multicolored camellias scattered about their control room. Kise picks up one as red as blood, and though he is turned away, Nakamura swears he is smiling.

 

**iv. suzuran**

 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Kise begins, but he immediately realizes that is a foolish thing to say to Akashi Seijuurou. They are in one of Yokohama’s many gardens, and this is one of very few times Kise Ryouta has ever felt to be on the receiving end of a rejection. “I—“

“I know what you mean,” Akashi cuts him off, and Kise can practically feel his heart prematurely sinking for the sound of his name, “Kise, will you go out with me?”

“What? I mean, y- _yes_!”

It is an inelegant response, Akashi thinks as he presses the tiny white bells into Kise’s hands (and his mouth to Kise’s), but of course he would have it no other way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to japanese flower language,
> 
> aster = remembrance  
> camellia = in love (red), longing (yellow), waiting (white)  
> lily-of-the-valley = return of happiness  
> sunflower is there bc i couldnt decide and it fits so like.


	8. coruscate (kagamido)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a moment on some faraway shore

Neither the shrieking laughter of children nor the shrill squawking of seagulls have ever been particularly high on Midorima’s list of favorite sounds. It is not that he dislikes the ocean or the beach; rather, he dislikes the heat, the sticky sea breeze in his hair, the sand in his slippers.

It’s different for Kagami. Now that they are here, he is starting to see why.

Before him sprawls some remote stretch of white sand in Nicaragua, away from the usual tourist-filled beaches near the city. It is already soothing that they are far from aforementioned screaming children, but with the added bonus of getting to discreetly watch Kagami test the waters in his very tight wetsuit. Perhaps this is what Oha Asa had meant for today’s lucky item to be a pair of sunglasses (not that he would ever say this aloud).

“Oi, you’re not helping me?”

Midorima sighs. “I’m coming.”

There admittedly isn’t much to help. He watches Kagami take off through the shallows, the glimmering sea empty save for a few dots in the horizon--cruise ships, perhaps. His feet sink into the pleasantly warm sand, and he finds it less disagreeable than he’d thought. _Good_. Though he had been initially reluctant to go barefooted, there seemed to be nothing on the pristine beach that looked like it would cut his feet. Midorima walks forward, carefully still, until the waves lap at his ankles. 

This is the first time he's watching Kagami surf. He takes off his sunglasses, squinting. Even in late afternoon the light is still a little too strong for his tastes.

Kagami waves at him excitedly. Midorima shields his eyes with a hand, and sees a big one coming. “Hey, get ready!”

Other things they may compete on--basketball, grades (though that is no competition), cleaning their shared apartment, but he’d heard Kagami say before, that surfing is simply becoming one with the waves. There is no competition here, at least between them.

Midorima watches with baited breath his form crouch low against the incoming wall of blue. His board is a knife that cuts through something that seamlessly falls back together again, and Midorima can never marvel enough at that. He watches Kagami expertly navigate his way beneath the wave as water crashes down behind him, a symphony of foam and birdsong from above. Bridled terns and skimmers circle and call out as if in praise, then turn their wings towards land. 

Kagami shakes his head vigorously as he paddles back to shore, though it doesn’t do much but to shower Midorima with unwanted seawater. He throws the towel at Kagami in a huff. “Can’t you wait until we get back to the hotel to do that?”

“Sorry,” Kagami says, blinking the water out of his eyes. He looks like a wet cat--Midorima catches the corners of his lips turning upwards, and forces it back down. “Hey, that was neat though, wasn’t it?”

“I, well, yes. It was very memorable.” He frowns a little, then reaches forward for Kagami’s hand. There _is_ nobody else on this beach, after all. “Let’s get you dry before I catch a cold from you. And...”

“And?”

He was being prodded; however simple Kagami was in terms of these things, even Midorima could realize that. He could feel his cheeks heat up. “Well. It would be...nice. But it’s not something I can learn in a day, and we only have three more days left here. Is it?”

Kagami sighs, pulling him closer as he gently sets his surfboard down. “Oh, come on. We’re alone, aren’t we? I’ll teach you tomorrow.”

“That isn’t nec-- “

Another wave crashes against the shore, cutting him off with a thunderous roar. Kagami’s lips are salt and sand; this time, Midorima tastes it without complaint.


	9. walk, my love (nijiaka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _have you ever seen a wolf with red red fur?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written a couple weeks ago for nijiakaweek2k16 & slightly edited since then.  
> i dont know how poemfic (or nijiaka) works anymore lmao im sorry (bonus if you recognize the title though _(:з」∠)_)
> 
> vaguely medieval + war + separation au, 2nd person pov, tw for violence

there’s a pine tree overlooking the path to his house,  
tall and solemn, but bending lower and  
lower each year.  
(it’s just the wind, he says, his voice a caress on your lips, and you believe it)  
the pebbly ground slippery in rain, burning your feet in summertime.

 

you don’t come this way often, what with your  
head held so high, your eyes glittering even from within the carriage  
that takes you there, once a month or more;  
he laughs at you, sometimes, and ruffles your hair  
(your red red hair) and whispers  
"i love your eyes, too."  
you look up and say, “all the better to look at you with.”

 

and you have seen it, have you not,  
what he refuses to show:  
the heavy breathing in the dead of night, a gasp,  
his chest burns and so does yours, dearly.

 

(in this forest there are real wolves and you would  
never  
never  
never have yourself forget that)

 

–but you can’t help him now, can you, when the war comes  
with your eyes and hair that would stain  
each frayed thread of his jacket when he comes home,  
victor or not.

 

(you’ve always always always won)

 

he leaves on a full moon night, your longing heavy  
on his back, his dark hair,   
perhaps it is the only thing he is carrying.  
of course, maybe then will it be fitting  
for the air to devour you whole.

 

the cities swallow each other, the towns shatter  
and you run, a pebble in your shoe and a seed in the other,  
far away, into the moon.  
(”this is no place for someone like you”, they howl, before they  
descend and rip you to pieces)

 

but the pine tree he knows does only bend  
lower, and lower perhaps, it never snaps;  
and _you_ know with your bright bright eyes, you remember,  
(”not blood,” he’d murmured into your hair, three lifetimes ago, “but fire”)

 

“ _the night is afraid of fire,_ ” you repeat, again, and again, and again  
until all that is left is ember in your gaze and the  
remains of skins across your shoulders.

 

when dawn breaks and flings its colors across your being,  
with your head held high, the morning dew  
coalescing on the sprouts beneath your feet.  
the moon hangs with its last breath and sighs its last,  
 _i had always been a part of you._

 

you won’t smile then, until you walk  
towards the end of the path, the narrow pebble path that runs  
through a forest where wolves no longer hide,  
surrendering its secrets to you one by one, until you reach the end of the road where the pine tree once stood.

 

and in its place–  
“how?”  
you ask, you with your glittering gaze and burrs in your hair, staining  
(his lips as he laughs into yours:  
_it’s the wind, silly_ )


	10. nightscapes (aohimu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aomine picks up a surprise on his way home after work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings:** blood  & injury; pretentiously lowercased, stream-of-consciousness writing  
> set vaguely post-wc.

it’s not the first time something like this has happened to aomine daiki, troublemaker extraordinaire who happens to come upon bullshit so often that he wonders if this is some sort of karma for his antics. satsuki had as a child thrown rocks at his window whispering if she could come in after a fight with her parents - that had been rare and usually the opposite happened, but it had happened nonetheless. there isn’t much in his room for way of entertaining guests unless they were into mai-chan mags (and which guy _wasn’t_ , he’d grumbled when kise had come over once and complained that there wasn’t anything interesting to do, _give me a break_.) even kagami had broken in before, one night after an exhausting joint practice held much closer to aomine’s place than shibuya where that rich idiot lived alone in his big-ass house, but aomine hadn’t thought about it much. it was just the way things were, and it wasn’t like he didn’t crash at any of their places every so often without warning.

except...

he sees this guy slumped near a dumpster a couple blocks from his house and that's just warning number one - _why would you go near anyone like that?_ he could already hear satsuki yelling in his head. warning number two: the sound of yelling between questionable persons he knows who prowl around the park after midnight, and daiki curses his shitty luck in getting off a late shift at the convenience store he worked part-time at just for this summer. that had been satsuki’s fault, too, but he does need that money for magazines. 

warning three is the fact that as he approaches the guy he groans and rolls around and the streetlight hits his face at an angle that makes daiki do a double-take because hey, he _had_ seen him before, not up-close but on the court, kagami’s friend - brother - someone. a fraction of light glints off the silver ring dangling limply off his neck and the guy isn’t looking at him - _what’s his name again_ , daiki tries to recall as he stoops down with a hand on his phone and absolutely no idea what he's supposed to do in a situation like this. the guy cracks an eye open and looks at him but he doesn't move, and there is after a moment a faint trace of recognition there.

“hey, you’re -”

_why do these things happen to me?_

satsuki always goes to bed at twelve and slept like a log even in summer; there is no way he would be able to haul her awake and he didn’t want to bother her with this anyway, and so daiki ended up half-carrying, half-dragging this guy with his hair in a mess falling down the left side of his face, and daiki can’t help but think in the back of his mind that this guy is kind of pretty even though this is _no_ situation for stupid thoughts right now.

his parents are away for the weekend and that must be some sort of a blessing because there's no way daiki could explain bringing a beat-up stranger home who isn’t kise or kagami or whichever of his so-called friends he’s casually mentioned before. of course it’s dark and he has to tiptoe around the fence in case the neighbor’s dog starts barking up a storm, damn that mutt - why couldn’t it be as nice as nigou? daiki sighs and unlocks the door and hauls the mystery guy inside and finally remembers - his name is himuro.

“i’m calling kagami,” daiki grunts as he leaves his guest, shirt-torn and bloody on the couch, and goes to turn the nightlight on. he’d have to deal with his parents’ reprimanding later and probably pull off a lie about a scraped leg or something while yelling at kagami _what the hell is this something you deal with on a regular basis_ , “stay there and - “

“don’t.”

“hah?”

“don’t call him,” himuro says, and he sounds simultaneously very serious and also in pain. _no shit_ , daiki thinks to himself as he walks over and sees cuts on his arms and bruises blossoming on his pale skin, on the collarbones and neck and jawline, and there is a faint smell of rust in the air that makes daiki slightly nauseous. he’s been in his fair share of fights before, but even daiki knows this probably goes further than that. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think anyone would - “

“what the hell are you sorry for?” daiki asks, and he’s getting a little annoyed even though the back of his mind is murmuring  _what the hell do i do is he in trouble with a gang or something?_ quietly over and over again and he ignores it in favor of turning around and heading straight to the bathroom. he’s never been good at taking care of people or even taking care of himself and that’s one thing he’d never let satsuki know he knows, but now - well. “seriously, _don’t_ move. if you’re not letting me call i don’t want you dying on me at least because kagami _will_ kill me.”

his mind must be on some weird overdrive as he fishes out the first-aid kit from underneath the sink because all it can think about oscillates between _i should probably call kagami anyway fuck what that guy says_ and _okay maybe i shouldn’t._

maybe he shouldn’t.

himuro is still lying prone on the couch as he approaches cautiously with bandages and antiseptic. daiki doesn’t know what this guy thinks of him honestly - what does _he_ think of himuro?  that he's got a pretty face that's not so pretty right now - but something about his posture tells daiki he doesn’t like being touched by strangers and in this vulnerable state well, that wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to see why. “you...um, i’ll just leave this here, yeah? you can use the bathroom if you want -”

“mhm.”

and then it occurs to daiki he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do between now and whenever himuro decides to go to sleep or leave the house or possibly murder him for being a witness or _something_. he wants to ask _hey don’t you like, live way up in fucking akita what are you doing here_ , or _lucky that you met someone who wasn’t actually gonna kill you, huh_ but all of it sounds strange on his tongue and so he only sits on a chair and watches himuro work the bandages expertly and with a knowing that he’s done this many times before.

“so what the hell happened?”

it’s really not his nature to tiptoe and pretend, and the more daiki watches the more he just wants to get to the bottom of this. himuro’s face is like a perfect porcelain mask that’s recently been cracked and daiki doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling looking at it, in measures disgusted and intrigued and perhaps kind of sympathetic in a way he hardly ever feels. maybe it’s remembering that game and looking at him now that daiki’s expression that gives it all away when himuro looks up at him and there’s the tiniest bit of coldness in his eyes when he says with a smile, “i really shouldn’t to bother you with the details.”

“don’t you think you at least owe your savior some kind of explanation as to why you’re lying in a dump beaten up by god knows what kind of people walk around at night there?”

“why were _you_ walking around at night then?”

“because i work nearby,” daiki says, and it’s almost a shout and he doesn’t realize that until the dog next door barks once and reminds him he’s at home and not completely alone. he takes a deep breath. “look, i don’t even really know you and maybe i don’t really give a shit, but - you have friends, don’t you. those idiots kagami and murasakibara and - i don’t even know.“

what he really wants to ask is _why are you giving me that face that tells you don’t think anyone cares_? but then it runs through his head and burrows into the pores of his mind and he feels a little guilty. it’s not as if he knows this - the look on tetsu’s face he tries to not think about anymore because there’s too much buried there, now that the wave has crashed and thrown everyone overboard, and what’s done is done. 

“you’re sleeping here tonight,” daiki mutters and casts a quick glance at the door as if someone, his parents or the mafia or recreations of his dreams, would burst in at any moment. they don’t. “my parents won’t be back until day after tomorrow.”

they stare at each other and himuro seems to be searching his face for something, for a moment, but then he turns away and doesn’t speak any more. daiki’s had quite enough of this and storms into his room and bed. he doesn’t bother closing the door.

 

 

in the morning the room is empty except for a measure of gauze topped with a scrawl of writing, and he picks it up gingerly as if it’s apt to explode any second.

_thank you, daiki._

daiki doesn’t know if kagami had ever mentioned his first name to his brother before, but the couch is smooth and devoid of wrinkles as if nothing had touched its surface last night, save for a whisper of crimson if he stares hard enough. he finds a single leaf from the maple tree outside on the floor, near the window, which looks as closed as tightly as it is every night.

he slides it open without bothering to see if the lock is still working, muttering _what the hell, honestly_  at the wind hitting his face. it’s a stormy sort of day today; the clouds move fast above his head, _rush rush rush._

maybe it’s alright he doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- currently dying in the middle of finals rn but i found this thing that i wrote almost half a year ago, so.  
> \- i think a lot about aomine's commentary on the seirin v yousen game.  
> \- this was originally gonna be a two-parter but i lost steam back then lmao ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ we'll see.


	11. good morning, sunshine (mayuaka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> college au fluff basically

“Mayuzumi-san.”

“Hnngh.”

“Mayuzumi-san, don’t you have something important to do today?”

“Go away,” Mayuzumi murmurs into his pillow, as if that would somehow make Akashi Seijuurou disappear from his chair next to the bed. He feels cold fingers touch his face lightly; in response, he pulls his covers over his head. “God _damnit_ , Akashi, it’s only—”

The covers are pulled away promptly. Mayuzumi finally opens his eyes, blinking groggily at the neon green numbers swimming before his eyes. Akashi pulls the clock back and smiles at him triumphantly. “8:45. If I recall correctly, Mayuzumi-san, your multimedia design class usually starts—”

“ _Shit_ ,” Mayuzumi says, the various components of his brain finally clicking into place and telling him that yes, he’s going to be fucking _late_ for his fucking final  _exam—_ “Why the fuck—my fucking _shitty_ alarm clock—”

He scrambles for his backpack, already resting half-open against his desk, but in his haste tangles his feet up in the covers. An undignified yelp barely has time to escape his mouth before Akashi saves him from splaying out all over the floor by neatly catching him by the shoulder. 

It just so happens that Mayuzumi’s face now rests in the crook of Akashi’s neck, and he catches a whiff of that expensive Armani cologne Akashi only wears when they’re out on a date. His eyes widen as he looks up, spying the calendar on his desk, which reads the 25th—a  _Saturday_.

“Akashi…”

“Good morning to you too.”

“Akashi, if you weren’t—”

Akashi pulls away from him then, a not-quite smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry.”

There is no trace of apology in his tone; not that Mayuzumi expects one, of course. Now that he is wide awake, he can see that Akashi is wearing his going-out clothes, which is to say he’s definitely been duped on purpose. Mayuzumi tries to keep the annoyance in his voice to a maximum (which is not hard, considering)— ”Don’t _you_ have a project due on Monday? Like should you not, I don’t know, be working on that instead of freaking me out.”

“Already finished it,” Akashi says, the smile fully in place now. _Figures_ , Mayuzumi thinks in resignation, and he reaches out to pinch Akashi’s cheek quickly before the other could retaliate. “I would rather you not do that.”

“Are all Todai freshmen brats like you?”

Akashi places a hand over his fingers, closing in gently. “Perhaps.”

Mayuzumi huffs and kicks the covers away, the flush of heat across his own cheeks annoyingly pleasant. Bright sunlight is already starting to spill across his sheets; it’s not as if he would’ve been sleeping much longer anyway. It would be fun (perhaps dangerously so) to get back at Akashi later, Mayuzumi muses as he makes the bed, but it’s not like he’s getting nothing out of this. “Fine, fine. Where are we going?”

“Why don’t we decide once you’re dressed?”

“Please,” Mayuzumi says, stifling a yawn. “I know you’ve already decided.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i headcanon mayuzumi going to waseda and akashi going to tokyo u for college just so they could be relatively close to each other lmfao
> 
> also in case ppl are wondering: there _will_ be repeat drabbles for pairings, eventually, as i am working on some...!! yes this was from a while ago if u follow me on tumblr, ive just been rly pooped out from rl stuff lately orz;;


	12. express route (mayuaka)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: mayuaka + hell / role-reversal

Hell, Akashi decided, was a strange place indeed.

He knew it was hell from the moment he opened his eyes, after what seemed like a long sleep. The ground beneath his feet was hot and perpetually trembling, though not so much that it impeded his movements.  There seemed to be other people around, though their actual features were foggy and distant, as if they were but projections flirting with reality.

Funny thing, that. Akashi wasn’t frightened, though he was a little perplexed at the situation. Not the fact that he wasn’t being assaulted by hellfire or knives or whatever stories they made up to scare little children—but the fact of the matter was he couldn’t remember how he died.

Though maybe that was normal. He would remember it later.

Akashi kept walking, nominally in the same direction the others were walking in, but there was _something_ there, up ahead, that pulled at him. A quick inspection of his body told him his heart had stopped, but nevertheless Akashi thought he might detect some sort of vibration that was getting louder. The path underneath his feet opened up gradually, though it still stung his feet, and the air was stifling.

Soon Akashi had made his way to the top—a hill, he’d realized halfway, where a grand door opened before him. Was it welcoming him? No, _who_ was it was the question.

“Hello?”

A cursory greeting yielded no results. Akashi shrugged and strode in; there were no guards posted here to heckle him, nor did a court appear to judge his mortal dealings. It was just a long, long misty path, though he felt there had to be walls surrounding him at this point.

Surely this wasn’t the point of hell, to make him walk in a straight line forever.

“I know someone’s there,” he says, cautiously now, but still there was no answer. Something in the mist shimmered before him; Akashi narrowed his eyes, and reached out. His fingers brushed against something that felt like fabric, and he yanked it, hard.

Something locked at the base of his throat, _fingers_ , and he found himself looking into another man’s eyes. Dull and grey though they were, there was a spark of something in them that told Akashi this wasn’t any ordinary man. It didn’t lessen his displeasure at being choked, however.

“Take your hands off me.”

“What did you say, human?”

_Human?_

The man—no, not a man—was taller than him but not by much, grey hair falling over his eyes and framing a pale, sallow face. He would be handsome if he did not look so miserable, Akashi thought. It was a strange thought for one to have when being choked by what was ostensibly a demon, judging by the sharpness of the nails against his skin.

Of course, _that_ warranted a slight change of tone. “I asked you to release me.”

“And why would I do that?” He leaned forward, and Akashi could see his silvery cloak glittering with studded jewels, though a trick of the eye made it seem almost immaterial. Still, the demon’s monotone did not change much, if at all. “If you were curious as to how you ended up here, Akashi Seijuurou, it was a drive-by shooting.”

“Not the most charming way to go,” Akashi murmured to himself, feeling a slight slackening of the grip around his neck. It was not as if he were about to be let off the hook, however, judging by the contemplative look slowly forming on the other’s face. “Who are you then, if you know my name? The devil?”

The demon hummed. “If you say so.”

Then he smiled, an event Akashi knew in the instant it transpired to be a rare thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can akashi go one day without trying to rip someone's clothes or dignity off


	13. eye of the storm (garciraki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: garciraki + high school / blind date

**Sent 13:45 PM:**

 

> _So… where do you want to meet?_

**Received 14:20 PM:**

 

> _Cat cafe at six? It’s really cute!! :3_

**Sent 14:23 PM:**

 

> _…_
> 
> _Okay_
> 
> _I’ll be there._
> 
>  

* * *

 

Masako pulls at her drenched skirt self-consciously as she sat there, frowning at the rest of the patrons, of which there are admittedly few. No human or cat is paying her any attention, and through the window she can’t see much of anything in the rain. This had been a terrible idea, she thinks to herself, as the bored-looking waitress sets a cup of black coffee in front of her before bustling off somewhere else.

A low hum reverberates through the cafe like an unspoken rule, broken by the roar of the torrential downpour outside. Masako barely made it onto the block when it had started raining too hard for her little umbrella to handle, and now she sits here, probably about to get stood up by her supposed date in this fucking weather.

_Last time I’m letting Yuki pull this shit_ , she thinks, and sighs. A tabby jumps up to the chair beside hers, and she eyes it like it’s about to bite her hand off.

It wasn’t as if Masako had really hedged on _this_ happening until it had been far too late. In the absence of actually getting anything significant done, her friends had somehow gotten invested in the notion that all Masako needed was a little push in the right direction with the help of a significant other.

Right. Because dates would ever be more interesting than bikes.

Yuki had told her absolutely jack shit about what kind of date she’d set her up with—not even a real name or number until Masako had gotten annoyed enough to threaten her, five hours ago. Alex had sounded perky enough in what little conversation she’d struck up (and it was so unfair that somehow, Masako’d had her number given out just like that.) If this turns out to be some creepy old man playing a joke, well, there’s a reason she carries that retractable bamboo sword around.

The tabby jumps onto the table and pawed at her coffee experimentally. Masako doesn’t bother to stop it, instead opting to smooth out her own drying skirt. Caffeinated or not, nothing tells her this is shaping up to be anything other than another shitty night. She would probably have to walk home in this—

The door opens to the howling wind outside, and a blonde girl staggers in, struggling to shut the door behind her. She’s completely drenched as well, without so much as a shitty convenience store raincoat to cover her. With some amusement Masako watches her shake the water out of her long hair like a shaggy dog at the foyer, scaring off a Persian that had been roosting near the shoes. It hisses and darts under another empty table.

Masako only looks away for the briefest of seconds before she feels feet pattering up to where she sits. The tabby on her table makes a beeline for the floor, but is caught midair by a pair of strong arms. 

Her eyes immediately zone in on the callouses. _Basketball_. Suddenly the storm isn’t so loud in her ears anymore.

“Hey,” the blonde says with a grin, as if her hair isn’t still tracking water across half the table, white shirt stuck to her skin in translucent rumples. No uniform, Masako realizes about halfway looking up into the girl’s bright green eyes, and she can practically _feel_ her face warming up despite the air conditioning turned up too high. _Oh—_ “You’re Masako, aren’t you?”

“…Alex?”

“That’s me,” Alex replies as she plops down on the chair, releasing the cat again; Masako watches it bat at Alex’s leg, then whisk itself away under her chair. Alex laughs, and Masako can’t help but feel a smile tugging at her own lips. “Hey, sorry about the wait. Is the coffee any good?”

Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t have to bring out the sword after all.


	14. after hours (nijihimu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nijimura goes to a bar and the bartender is hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i saw this really atmospheric retro-style bar on my way home tonight so this happened (?) also i guess a rendition of fujimaki's kurofes profession for himuro lol
> 
> 'nijimura goes to a __ and meets some dude' seems to be a recurring trope in this drabble dump but yknow

_It’s oddly quiet for a bar_ , Shuuzou thinks.

 _Listen_ : the music, a jazz rendition of a Bob Dylan hit, is just loud enough for him to know he isn’t hallucinating. Two other customers murmur beside him on rickety stools, huddled over their glasses of Suntory. The bartender maneuvers through the narrow walkway behind to retrieve something-or-another at the other end, half-hidden through the woven bamboo _byobu_ standing on the tabletop. Shuuzou hasn’t even seen his face yet the entire night; there had been a shift change, and the loud guy who’d served him seemed to have something urgent come up.

Maybe he’s getting a little tipsy, but the brightness of the lanterns isn’t helping him focus either. Shuuzou downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn in his throat slowly turning into a pleasant fizz. 

Perhaps it’s a slow night for everyone.

“Bad day at work?”

He looks up, and his breath catches.

“Um, well … yeah.”

It’s not exactly a lie; his boss had been an ass at the meeting today. As hot as the guy currently refilling his drink is - and by _hot_ he means _damn_ \- Shuuzou isn’t quite feeling at the stage of drunkenness where he pours his entire heart out to the bartender yet.

 _Yet_. The fact that he remembers (or actually, his _kouhai_ remember, which makes it all the more embarrassing) and is taken with a weird sense of deja vu can’t bode well.

“Taiga told me you looked a little down,” the bartender continues, not at all helpfully. “This one’s on the house.”

Shuuzou stares at him as the guys beside him shuffle out through the sliding door, leaving bills on the table as they go. “Tha - wait, who’s Taiga?”

“Guy who was here - tall, redheaded, that one.” A smile, polite but with the tiniest hint of playfulness. Shuuzou’s head swims as he takes another sip; maybe he’s being played here, but hey, what the fuck. Small talk, not destroying cities yet. “I’m Tatsuya, by the way.”

 _Beat_. The alcohol flowing in his system suggests going along with it, and that’s what he does. “Shuuzou.”

“Mind if I call you Shuu?”

That smile again, wider this time. He flounders just a bit, but manages to pull back at the end. “Yeah, no - I mean … I don’t mind.”

He grins. Despite the fluorescent red glow of the lanterns, the ornate window-boards throwing pinpricks of shadow on Tatsuya’s face from the streetlights outside, there’s nothing about the picture he sees that he doesn’t like. Shuuzou tilts his head towards the messy excuse for a food menu on the blackboard, his mouth feeling quite dry all of a sudden. “Thanks, by the way. Work was ass.”

Tatsuya puts down a glass, sliding it back behind; he hears a crisp clink of glass. The music switches to something a little funkier, something Shuuzou can’t place. “So what do you do?”

“Not much,” Shuuzou says. Then, because he can’t think of anything else to say, “Business. Logistics and shit. You know?”

“Sort of,” Tatsuya replies breezily. He finally sits down, and only then does Shuuzou realize how tiny the table separating them really is. “Well, not really. I was in marketing a while back, but that’s a different story, isn’t it?”

The words are out of Shuuzou’s mouth before he can help it. “What made you quit?”

 _Stupid question_ , he thinks, but Tatsuya’s expression doesn’t change much. “It just wasn’t for me. Taiga - we’re brothers - was already thinking about opening a place up by then, so here I am.”

“Oh,” Shuuzou says. He puts down his empty glass. He doesn’t _really_ see how they’re brothers, though he hadn’t gotten too close of a look at that Taiga guy either. Tatsuya’s face is so close it almost looks unreal, like skin off one of the movie poster cutouts plastered on the walls. “That’s nice. Your face is nice.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes, feeling color rise on his cheeks. compounded by the alcohol, Shuuzou isn’t sure he wants to see what the looks like right now. “I’m sorry, I have no idea - “

“You’re touching my face, Shuu.”

If he’d meant to sound chastising, he had failed. Shuuzou quickly pulls away, shaking the fumes from his head in the flood of embarrassment, but when he looks up again Tatsuya is laughing quietly. “I - well, shit.”

“This _is_ your sixth? No, seventh drink, isn’t it?”

“Hey, I’m not -  _you_ were the one who gave me more.”

“Not arguing that,” Tatsuya says. He rests his hand on the table, fingertips just barely touching Shuuzou’s elbow. “Relax, I get that a lot. It’s fine.”

“Is that you trying to make me feel better?”

“Maybe.”

Shuuzou rolls his eyes, and that just sends Tatsuya laughing again. It’s a nice laugh, Shuuzou decides, observing the way Tatsuya’s lips curve and the fact that he could see the corner of his eye under the fringe when he moves his head. The multicolored bottles behind his head twinkle as a bike with headlights rolls past outside, and he finds himself resting his arm against Tatsuya’s. 

Then he looks down at his watch: 11:40.

Tatsuya follows his gaze. “Well, I suppose you’re done for the night, huh?”

There is a dreamlike quality to his voice now; whether from alcohol or lantern-light or some real spell in his smile, Shuuzou doesn’t care anymore. He drums his fingers along Tatsuya’s forearm. “Yeah?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t croak on your way home,” Tatsuya says, gently pulling away. “Don’t think I’m chasing you off, Shuu, but you’ll need a taxi.”

“I can walk,” Shuuzou says. He stands up, sways a bit, then sits back down. “Wait, no. Fuck.”

He fishes his address out of his wallet, lets Tatsuya call for him; even now he feels the effects dissipating, and what sets in now - taxi fare, another workday tomorrow - makes him wish it weren’t doing so. The thoughts swirl inside his head like cold air bursting out of the fridge, and he feels something chilly against his face.

“Water,” Tatsuya says. He’s somehow already standing next to Shuuzou, and his voice is gentle. “Hey, take it easy.”

“You doing this so I’ll come back next time?”

“Wouldn’t say I wouldn’t be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“Do you - “ Shuuzou yawned, letting himself be led to the door, “ - always say things, I dunno, so _roundabout_ - “

He hears the taxi come up, parking right outside the alley. The fresh air clears his mind a little, but not before he almost stumbles into a trashcan. Tatsuya’s arms around him, though, help just a bit.

“You’ll find out, won’t you?”

A wink, and Shuuzou finds himself in the backseat, and he is off.

 _Oh, that was_ illegal. 

 

 

In the morning, Shuuzou finds a card he doesn’t remember taking in the front of his wallet, for a bar a few blocks away from the Golden Gai. The name is not familiar, he finds - he never remembers the names of the places he visits - but the messy handwriting on the back, well.

He smiles, listening to the quiet serenity of his flat before another day begins.


	15. of freedom (mayuhimu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inuyasha AU; more like retelling of sesshoumaru/kagura but with mayuhimu lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by a recent conv i had with @miss_liding about inuyasha that made me remember how much i loved sesshoumaru/kagura so i kept thinking about an au and well............. :')
> 
>  **content warnings** : character death & spoilers if you never watched inuyasha? also potential messing with canon bc it's been A While since i read the manga...  
> & don't think too much about the character settings...

1.

 

“You know,” Mayuzumi says flatly, leaning away as much as he possibly can, “I’d rather we have this talk _without_  there being a blade on my throat.”

Himuro smiles, but it does not quite reach his eyes just yet. It’s getting to the point that _this_ , Mayuzumi thinks in exasperation, is becoming an _annoyingly_ familiar situation. “Give me a good reason to do that.”

Mayuzumi sighs. “Well, first of all, I’m not gonna die even if you decapitate me, because fucking Akashi still has my heart.”

“Go on.”

“Do you really like playing this game so much.”

“Mm.” The tip of his sword digs deeper into Mayuzumi’s skin. “I’m waiting.”

“ _Second_ of all, I’m _really_ sorry I tried to kidnap your kid, okay? That was like, three visits ago. Maybe four.”

“Muro-chin isn’t my dad,” said kid calls from behind a rock, staring at him suspiciously. “And he should just eat you already. You’re weird.”

“You know I don’t want to get a stomachache, Atsushi.”

“Rude,” Mayuzumi mutters as he finally feels the pressure on his neck disappear. It’s infuriating how Himuro isn’t  _that_ much taller than him but still looks so much more imposing, even with him swishing around that fluffy thing on his shoulder. He wonders idly if it’s a tail (and if he could discreetly touch it without immediately getting shredded) as he steps away carefully from where he had been. “Okay, so here’s the deal - ”

“You’re here on Akashi’s behalf to offer me another, vastly convoluted way to defeat my dear brother.”

At this, Mayuzumi rolls his eyes. “Wow, I don’t even have to sell it to you anymore, do I? But yeah, the usual.”

“So this is just perfunctory.”

“Right.” _Another day, another bullshit assignment_. It’s no great secret now that Mayuzumi would vastly prefer telling Akashi to piss off than do to his bidding, but that he would _also_ rather do that while staying in one piece, thank you very much. While Himuro is only marginally less annoying than Kagami and his ragtag group, at least he isn’t yet directly in Akashi’s line of fire. _Yet_. Mayuzumi shrugs, motioning to go. “Well, that’s all then - “

Himuro grabs his wrist, startling him so much he almost falls backwards.

“I didn’t tell you to _leave_ ,” he says, and this time Mayuzumi thinks he isn’t hallucinating the mild interest in his voice. “Tell me more.”

Behind them, he can hear a childish grumble to the tune of _ugh, finally_.

 

 

 

 

2.

 

“Muro-chin, didn’t we just pass through here?”

“I forgot something,” Himuro says, without looking back. Over the months Atsushi has become accustomed to running after him (sometimes reluctantly, dragging his feet) over all manners of terrain that he doesn’t really worry anymore about the kid getting lost or eaten by bears or whatever. In any case, Atsushi is bigger than most children of his age, and less prone to doing stupid things like helping lost pilgrims and fighting off swarms of bees for random villagers.

“Is there something in the water?” Atsushi asks as they stop near the stream. The something in question is beyond the bend, and Himuro sees it soon enough: a figure lying prone in the middle, clinging to a rock as the water rushed over him. “What - ”

“Atsushi, can you bring me some firewood?”

“Eh?”

 

 

Atsushi sits next to him, roasting a string of _ayu_ on a stick. A few feet away, beyond the fire they’d just made, is Mayuzumi propped up against a rock, unconscious as the gaping wound on his chest heals bit by bit. 

Asleep, there is something almost serene in his expression, something that Himuro has never seen before. Usually he just looks bored, or annoyed, or some combination of both with a healthy side of contempt. Maybe having to be around Akashi all the time would do that. Atsushi passes him half of the fish, and they eat in silence.

“Nngh.”

Atsushi scuttles closer to him as Mayuzumi groans and starts to wake, his eyes fluttering open in disorientation. The child pouts and clings on to Himuro’s sleeve. “He’s still weird.”

“You’re not that great either,” Mayuzumi shoots back. Then he looks down at his chest, and then back up at Himuro. “…Please don’t tell me.”

“You kind of fell out of the sky,” Himuro tells him noncommittally. The sun hangs low on the horizon, burning the clouds orange and gold. Atsushi sneezes, loudly. Maybe it’s best to stop here for the night. “You’re free to go, if you want.”

“Wasn’t planning on being stuck here with you anyway,” Mayuzumi grumbles, sitting up straight. Himuro finds himself eyeing the other youkai’s fingers as he pulls at what remains of his collar; though Mayuzumi isn’t in any terrible state of undress, whatever attack he’d taken had left him topless for the most part. Mayuzumi, catching his gaze, narrows his eyes. “…What are you doing.”

He doesn’t bother looking away. “Sitting here, mostly.”

“Great,” Mayuzumi says, standing up. “Keep doing that.”

“Aren’t you going to thank Muro-chin for saving you?” Atsushi pipes up at this moment; Himuro’s almost forgotten the kid is still there, huddled up against him. “You know. Because he did.”

The wind picks up around them, gently at first, then howling and furious. Frowning, Himuro moves to shield them both from the leaves and other flying debris.

_“I don’t owe anyone anything.”_

When the wind dies down, Mayuzumi is no longer there.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” Himuro says. He looks up at the dying light, and notices a single feather, long and silver, land softly at his feet. That he picks up, turning over in his fingers, then slides into his sleeve.

 

 

 

 

(3. 

 

“Is this what you imagined it to be?” Himuro asks. They are sitting on a hill somewhere far from home, far from anything they know. “Freedom, I mean.”

“Not really,” Mayuzumi replies. He coughs. “Well, maybe a little.”

Mayuzumi leans heavily on his shoulder, his hair gently tickling Himuro’s cheek. Around them, there are flowers, although what kind they are Himuro has no idea. In all his journeys he’s never had much time to look at the flowers.

Now he’s too late.

Himuro takes his hand; there is blood on it, too much blood, and the scent of it all makes him lightheaded. This time is different, because he can hear the beating, however slowly, of a heart. “In what way?”

“Everything’s a little clearer,” Mayuzumi says, his voice a little raspier than before, a little quieter. Himuro watches the black bruises spread slowly, crawling up his shoulder, down his sides, a virus even Tenseiga cannot cure. Mayuzumi reaches up and touches his chest. “Like the fact that we’ll all die, anyway. Someday.”

“Someday,” Himuro agrees. _Not now_ , he wants to say, but it would be a lie. He closes his own hand around Mayuzumi’s, listening to the wind in his ear. _Thump, thump_. “Atsushi will miss you.”

“Little brat won’t remember much.”

“Trust me, he will.”

_I will._

Then something hits his nose, then his chin: petals, small and white, the entire hillside dancing with springtime. It is almost enough to hide the scent of decay and blood–almost.

“You don’t have to overexert yourself,” he tells Mayuzumi. “It’s fine.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Mayuzumi tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were saying stupid things.”

“Are you happy, then?”

“Mm.” He reaches up, touching Himuro’s face, brushing aside his fringe. “Close your eyes.”

Himuro does so.

The wind, sweet and floral, brushes past his face, maybe once, maybe twice. When he opens his eyes again there is nothing left: a soft impression in the velvety ground, a flower on his lips.)


	16. the ship of dreams (momoriko)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> titanic au; some point in time, a rendezvous

“Come _on_ ,” Satsuki says, her tone impatient. She beckons at her companion from behind several barrels. “Don’t mind your clothes, you’ll get them dirty anyway.”

Riko rolls her eyes, struggling to get out of her multilayered, stifling dress. “You think I really want to be in this crap?”

She can hear Satsuki laughing as she disappears from view, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. It is warm down here, from all the steam coming from the back of the orlop decks where most passengers were barred from visiting, though it hadn’t stopped Satsuki from taking her down here. Riko kicks off the silks pooling at her feet, takes one last look at her heels, and stuffs all of it into a crevice between the barrels.

Her father would probably up and die if he caught her in trousers, but well, he isn’t here, is he?

“Wait up!”

Satsuki is already halfway climbing up the narrow stairs, her own feet bare. Someone laughs raucously in the distance; Riko can hear faint music coming from the Middle Deck, tunes she could not recognize. She glimpses the other girl’s long hair swishing around the corner, and quickens her own footsteps until her fingers brush against the coarse fabric of her shirt.

There is a gasp, and then both of them tumble through a half-open door, straight into a pile of mail bags. Riko toes the door close hastily just in time as they hear footsteps turn into their section of the hallway, the murmurs and quiet chuckling fading into nothing after a moment. In the darkness she could barely see Satsuki, though she thinks one of her hands is resting somewhere on the other girl’s leg, and she could hear her giggling beneath her own body. The post personnel would not be back until three, Riko knows; whenever she looks down from her window at tea-time, she could see them congregating around the deck below.

“We can’t get spotted,” she whispers sternly despite that, but Satsuki shifts in position, unseating her along with the pile of mail. Riko yelps as she slides down a bit farther to the left. “Satsuki!”

“Come on, it’s just paper.”

“With my luck I’ll get a paper-cut,” Riko grumbles, but she feels a hand on her own wrist, and gratefully pulls herself up. The room is warm, and she listens to their breathing, uneven from all the excitement, as she composes herself. “Your brother’s clothes are so big.”

“I did warn you.”

“I’m not complaining, by the way.” Her eyes, having finally adjusted somewhat to the dimness, find Satsuki’s shoulder, and Riko leans forward to give her a peck on the cheek. “There.”

“You only kiss me in the dark.”

“Mm. Imagine if someone saw.”

She could almost hear Satsuki rolling her eyes. “Not in a million years. Anyway, when we get to America, it won’t matter. We’ll run away together, like you said.”

“…Land of dreams, huh?” Riko murmurs, as she pulls Satsuki towards her.

The sharp scent of cheap Hungary water, mixed with charcoal and sweat, fills her nostrils as they grope around in the dark for a suitable position. At this time her father would be dining with those rich American bastards up in first class, completely unaware of his daughter’s misadventures a few too many decks below.

She weaves her fingers into Satsuki’s hair, pushing away the thoughts of glittering staircases and diamond rings. Whatever frivolities her fiance had promised her could be earned back once they get to land, those things that she had loved so much as a child. But she is here, and now, and Satsuki’s lips against her collar is all she wants to feel forevermore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please just imagine they both survive the sinking and run off together into the glitz of new york city afterwards (i'm just too pooped rn for a whole big au but)


	17. melange (mayuaka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bunch of mayuaka 3-sentence drabbles from this [prompt generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i should do something for valentine's day  
> me: *does nothing*  
> me: wait... i have those mayuaka drabbles i wrote two months ago on tumblr that i haven't posted here yet!  
> me: there are definitely people who haven't seen these  
> me: nice

**1\. genre: mystery**

> “You know,” Chihiro says, looking up into the darkness of the creaking ceiling, “We could’ve _totally_ just pretended we didn’t hear that.”
> 
> Akashi ignores him in favor of fiddling with the rusty padlock on the door, intent on uncovering the mystery of the strange wail they’d just heard. Life, Chihiro thinks bitterly, seems rather intent on throwing Poes and Christies at him instead of meet-cute light novels.

**2\. setting: adriatic coast**

> One _could_ see the sea in Japan, of course, but it feels different here; the sun is mellower on his skin as Seijuurou takes another sip of cherry liqueur, and the water sparkles a slightly different hue of blue.
> 
> He leans against Mayuzumi’s shoulder wordlessly, and feels Mayuzumi’s hair gently tickle his forehead in return. Above them a seagull cries, winging down towards the red rooftops and out into the bay, carrying with it a scent of summer.

**3\. relationship: neighbors**

> Chihiro doesn’t live in a particularly _interesting_  area of the city; it’s not rowdy or crime-ridden, but there’s an agedness to the buildings and surroundings that makes sure most of its inhabitants are either somewhere north of the age of sixty-five…or broke students.
> 
> There isn’t much to mind, for him–rent is cheap, there’s a train station within walking distance, and while grocery shopping is a pain in the ass it’s not like he lives off anything other than instant ramen.
> 
> Which had made it all the more perplexing–and more horrifying than not–when he discovered Akashi at his doorstep one morning, his kouhai sporting a well-bred gentleman’s version of a shit-eating grin: “Mayuzumi-san, won’t you help me move in next door?”

**4\. time/period: graduation**

> “Did you have to ask like this,” Mayuzumi says flatly.
> 
> Akashi frowns, not seeming to understand even as they are almost pressed together against the lockers, listening to the sound of graduates filing through on the other side of the wall.
> 
> Mayuzumi rolls his eyes and, after weighing his choices, pries the button off his jacket and throws it at Akashi’s face.

**5\. professions AU: private investigator**

> “Well,” Mayuzumi says, squinting hard at the faded handwriting on the yellow pages; he looks back up at the expectant, well-dressed young man, slowly realizing this is not someone who would take no for an answer. “You do realize it would take a hell of a lot more than just a couple letters for me to find your mother’s whereabouts, right?”
> 
> There is a glint of knowing in the other’s eyes that gives Mayuzumi, ever so slightly, a chill down his spine: “Oh, of course–I have every confidence that you will be able to take on this task, Mayuzumi Chihiro.”

**6\. book/movie/show AU: sleeping beauty**

> He hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t _ever_ thought he’d be here, chopping away at some fucking thorn-bush in the middle of nowhere instead of lying in a quiet alcove with his books and scrolls.
> 
> All Chihiro had done was ask about that weird castle in the distance, the one that few talked about and everyone all but ignored.
> 
> Whoever it was sleeping up there, he decided as he hacked away at the last vines covering the door, better be the hottest fucking person in the land.

**7\. fantasy/sci-fi AU: merpeople**

> Seijuurou loved swimming in the ocean, though he often only did so at the private retreat his family owned in a remote part of the country, far enough that the waters remained mostly unpolluted and unpeopled.
> 
> He’d been twelve when he saw a flash of scales on the rocky outcrop not far away from his usual swimming place; careful and quiet footsteps had brought him within feet of the merman, who’d been sunbathing on a smoother boulder, his grey hair glistening silver in the sunlight, scales glittering like diamonds.
> 
> In the past they said eating a mermaid’s flesh would grant eternal life; Seijuurou did not care for such flesh, but he knew the memories would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

**8\. theme: hands**

> Akashi’s hands, Chihiro decides, are surprisingly rough for someone who’s never had to do house chores until quite recently, but that’s probably what years of playing basketball and various instruments do to you.
> 
> It is not as if they are not well taken care of; there’s an entire skincare shelf taking up space in their bathroom cabinet, among its occupants a couple high-end hand creams that probably cost more than what Chihiro paid for his laptop. 
> 
> But in the end, he thinks, he rather likes Akashi’s hands that way; the way the callouses on his fingers feel against Chihiro’s neck, on the small of his back, is more reassuring than anything else in the world.


	18. poetry on your lips (liuhimu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liu helps Himuro with his Mandarin homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u richer for the prompt (studying together)!! (also thank u val for giving me inspo on the particular subject of studying lol)

“ _Zen de_?”

“No, _zhen de_.”

Tatsuya’s expression doesn’t change, but Wei can detect the very slightest amount of frustration in his voice as he speaks next, leaning against Wei’s shoulder as he does so. “You said it the other way earlier.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

Shit. Maybe he’s been away for too long. “Okay, let’s try that again.”

Perhaps it’s cheating for Wei to take Mandarin as one of his electives (a move to counteract his not-that-great Japanese grades), but really, who gives. He’d been taken slightly aback when Tatsuya had walked into the classroom at the beginning of the semester, though; they hadn’t talked about what classes to take over break, and from the quick flash of surprise on Tatsuya’s face he hadn’t expected Wei to be there, either.

Though this gives them a _very_ good excuse to spend more time together.

(Not that they needed an excuse before, but.)

He watches Tatsuya underline and pause, erasing what he’d just written, then jotting down the kanji again. Wei finds himself noticing the dips and swirls of Tatsuya’s handwriting, how his characters manage to look decent though the stroke order is all wrong. It probably comes with being a returnee (Wei’s seen Tatsuya’s brother’s writing once, and it’s _way_ worse, so he’s glad with what he has at least.) Then Tatsuya looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not doing any work.”

“I’ve finished already.”

Tatsuya smiles, suddenly leaning _alarmingly_ close to his face, and Wei feels his ears heat up. “Then you have time to read this for me.”

“What.”

“I don’t remember some of the pronunciations.” He traces a finger across Wei’s larger hand, looking down at the coursework, but Wei can definitely sense the mischief in his voice. _Damn_. “Maybe I’ll remember if you read it again.”

“…Fine.”

_“The stars of last night and the wind of last night, are west of the painted chamber…”_

There’s a doodle of what looks like a hallway with rooms on the margins; Wei smiles and continues:

_“…Though I have for my body no wings like the phoenix, yet I feel the harmonious heartbeat of the sacred unicorn. Across the spring-wine, while it warms me, I prompt you how to bet…”_

“What’s that part supposed to mean?”

“Which part?”

Tatsuya looks down at the page, tracing the lines until he finds the right characters. His hair is tickling Wei’s nose; whatever he uses for shampoo, it smells amazing. “The thing about the heartbeat.”

“Oh.” Wei frowns, searching for the right words. He isn’t the world’s greatest at _poetry deciphering_ , and it probably shows. Still, Tatsuya is looking at him somewhat expectantly. “There’s this saying in Chinese, it’s like, you know those four-word idioms?”

“ _Yojijukugo_? Yeah, I know that.”

“So, that part here— _xin you ling xi_ —about the heartbeat like a mythical creature, it’s sort of…a psychic connection between two people.” He pauses. Tatsuya is looking at the page again, his mouth slightly parted like he’s murmuring the words under his breath. “Two people in love. Like, you don’t have to talk, but you just _know_. You know?”

Tatsuya leans back against the wall, his legs bumping against the table. He’s looking at the ceiling; Wei doesn’t know what he finds so fascinating about that, but he looks up as well. “A psychic connection, huh…”

“Maybe it sounds a little w—“

Then there’s something against his chest. Wei moves in confusion, but before he does, Tatsuya’s lips have already found his.

Well.

The contact doesn’t last long; his lips are only the slightest bit wet when they part a few seconds later, Wei’s hands halfway around the small of Tatsuya’s back, the table already knocked aside. Wei stares at his neck, at the exposed skin there, and Tatsuya touches a finger to his chest.

Their eyes meet, and Wei _knows_.

 

 

 

Later, when they’re tangled up in the tiny-ass dorm bed, limbs hanging off the sides, Wei drags an arm around Tatsuya’s back and yawns. “Guess we’re not studying anymore.”

“On the contrary,” Tatsuya replies, his head resting in the crook of Wei’s neck. Wei can barely see his face from this angle, but the residual body heat is telling. His breathing is even and comforting against Wei's chest, and really that's all that matters for the moment. “I think we put what we learned today to good use.”

Wei rolls his eyes. Tatsuya isn’t wrong, but like hell he’ll let him have the last word. “ _Ni hen ke ai_.”

“Hm?”

“It means you’re an asshole.”

He feels Tatsuya laugh against his chest, stretching. “I won’t deny that. _Ni hen ke ai_ too, Wei.”

(Hey, Tatsuya’s pronunciation might be a little off, but damn will he be treasuring that one sentence for years to come.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zhen de (真的) = really?  
> ni hen ke ai (你很可愛) = you're really cute
> 
> li shangyin's poems (translations of ["to one unnamed"](http://www.shigeku.org/xlib/lingshidao/hanshi/lishangyin.htm) used here) are notoriously hard to decipher so it's ok liu, idk wtf he's talking about either lmao (it's a real chengyu tho)


	19. pillow talk (nijiakamayu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akashi coerces Mayuzumi to spend the holiday weekend with him and Nijimura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is ostensibly set in some sort of canon continuation in the NBAxKNB universe (akashi playing with the lakers after graduating from college). the headcanon part is mayuzumi works in silicon valley and nijimura is still in LA & they're all in their mid-20s by now. nijimura gets to see akashi more often bc of proximity but all 3 are in a relationship together, just...to make it clear. yeah.
> 
> ...don't think too much about it because i didn't either lmao??? (if there's sth off abt the relationship pls tell me tho orz)

“I’m not driving down,” Mayuzumi says flatly.

“Chihiro—”

“Just because _you_ never get to experience the amount of traffic firsthand—“

There’s a sigh from the other end of the line. “Chihiro, I’m not asking you to drive. I’ve already booked a ticket for you, which you would’ve seen if you’d have bothered to check your email before calling.”

“…” Mayuzumi sets down his coffee. This is probably why he shouldn’t make calls first thing in the morning, honestly; he’d just woken up to see Akashi’s text and had completely missed the other notifications. That, and the fact that it’s a Monday. “And still you didn’t think about asking me first? I could be busy.”

“But you won’t be.”

“Am I supposed to take that as a reassurance.” As if Akashi could see so far into the future and clear all of his remaining workload, or something. He could hear someone moving about in the background on Akashi’s end, a muffled voice, familiar. “Oh. Is Nijimura there?”

“Yes?”

“Okay,” Mayuzumi says, yawning. “I'll check the time later. You can go back to fucking now; I need to get ready for work.”

 

 

 

When Mayuzumi’s flight touches down he flips out his phone to see a new message: _Shuuzou’s picking you up. He’ll be outside the terminal by the time you see this._

Mayuzumi rolls his eyes.  _What did you even get your license for._

_He volunteered, in case you needed reassurance. I’ll be home by nine._

Akashi keeps himself busy, that much he knows. Even in the off-season he’s always like this, even when they’re (finally) making plans for all of them to meet up or setting up three-way Skype sessions; he makes enough time in the end, but Mayuzumi tells him he’ll work himself into an early grave at this rate.

“Unlike you, Chihiro, who still stays up until four in the morning every night?”

Mayuzumi had shut up after that (but not before complaining to Nijimura, who’d flicked him on the forehead and told him he wasn’t gonna be here to bury them if that were the case.)

There’s a crowd beginning to form at his exit, but he’s able to expertly maneuver his way out of the ever-growing line of tourists and families and what-have-you too excited for the holidays for his taste, and find Nijimura’s blue Accord parked among the fray. Mayuzumi opens the door, shoves his carry-on into the back, and slips in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Nijimura says, moving in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Mayuzumi shows his appreciation by returning the gesture and by not immediately dumping all his complaints about his day right away. Apparently it’s not something Nijimura had been expecting. “Whoa, aren’t you responsive today.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mayuzumi grumbles as Nijimura inches them out of the waiting line and into the vortex of cars piling up towards the I-105.

 

 

 

They get home (as much of a home Akashi’s upscale apartment had become to them, anyway) a little after eight. By this time Mayuzumi could already feel actual pangs of hunger, but as neither of them were in any mood to cook Nijimura had instead thrown several fliers at him, saying something about needing to call his parents first.

“You’re such a good boy,” Mayuzumi says wryly as settles in on Akashi’s expensive leather couch, inching his foot towards Nijimura’s ass on the other end. Nijimura sighs and gives him a Look.

“Later. Just order the damn food.”

Mayuzumi calls.

As he waits for the food he listens to Nijimura’s voice drifting from the hallway, in that echoey quality that seems to come with a place too big (Mayuzumi doesn’t want to know how much Akashi pays for this place, even though he’s sure Akashi would candidly inform him of the astronomical number if he ever were to ask.) Akashi keeps the living room so clean that it doesn’t even look like there’s a person living here as far as Mayuzumi is concerned: there’s a widescreen TV and several training DVDs piled up on one side of the otherwise clean marble tabletop, two potted plants near the window that look more plasticine than alive, the couches suspiciously void of any dust or grime.

Akashi’s room is another matter, but that’ll have to wait until after dinner.

The doorbell buzzes.

“Coming,” Mayuzumi replies to the noise, shuffling himself towards the door. He briefly wonders if Akashi has any weird fans of the kind who would love to have a chance of delivering fast food to him (and if any of those creepy fansites have his address on full display—unlikely, but it’s not as if Mayuzumi looks at those.) At any rate, they’ll be disappointed today. He presses the button. “Taco Bell?”

“Chihiro.”

“Oh.” And then, “Do you see the guy down there already? I kind of don’t want to go downstairs again.”

 

 

 

“Meeting went alright?”

“Just the usual,” Akashi says lightly as he leans across Mayuzumi’s back, one foot on Nijimura’s lap. It’s kind of a weird position to be in, but the bed is big enough for three of them (maybe more, but Mayuzumi doesn’t want to test that, not right now) to be somewhat comfortable at the arrangement. He doesn't look as tired as he did when Mayuzumi had seen him a month ago. “They wanted to finalize the training schedules before the holidays started.”

Nijimura nods, mostly still focused on whatever he’s doing on his phone. “Yeah?”

“So the kids won’t all go too wild over the weekend, I suppose.”

“Please,” Mayuzumi says, looking up from his light novel, “Like you get to call anyone a kid.”

Akashi smiles at him faintly, then reaches for his ear. “Old enough, Chihiro.”

“Ouch!”

“Guys,” Nijimura interjects. He has on one of his Disapproving Faces saved for their petty arguments, but there’s little reprimand in his tone. “You’re both too old for this, stop p—”

A pillow hits him square in the face.

“………”

In retrospect, maybe Mayuzumi should’ve been more creative with his use of them; it’s not like Akashi can’t afford to replace a pillow or two, and there are _way_ too many lying around anyway (does he have a pillow fetish?) A trail of feathers leads to the kitchen and the hallway and back, until the pillow fight ends in the living room where they eventually all end up, breathing shallowly and sprawled over the couches and the floor.

Mayuzumi doesn’t think he’s heard Akashi laugh so much in ages. He halfheartedly kicks at Nijimura’s shoulder, earning a tired grunt and a swat at his ankle. “Childish.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”

“That’s Akashi,” Nijimura says, rolling over. “God, I shouldn’t have had so many tacos.”

“I hate all of you,” Mayuzumi declares, as he tries to get up with some difficulty. Akashi is already up and leaning against the couch, watching them. He wobbles over to where he’s standing, almost stepping on Nijimura's arm in the process. “I’m not drunk enough for this. I didn’t even have a fucking beer.”

“Shall we then?” Akashi says, his face flushed—it’s almost as hot as watching him do his thing on court, but Mayuzumi prefers not to think about that, right now. No playoffs to train for, no fucking systems updates, no shitty cubicles—just here, and now. He reaches down and pushes Akashi into the couch. Really, they don't even need alcohol for this situation. “Or maybe later, I see.”

“Hey, aren’t you forgetting someone.”

Mayuzumi snorts as he feels Nijimura’s arms around his waist, his weight balanced only precariously as all three of them lean against the leather, their clothes covered in expensive down. Childish as it is, maybe this sort of beginning to a holiday isn’t half bad after all. “Why do you think I’m waiting?”


	20. inner fire (akakaga)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kagami and the perils of kanji-based magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this...is a very self-indulgent au and will probably make more sense if you've read/watched flame of recca orz??? the basic premise is kagami's body is inhabited by a couple of fire spirits and in order to summon them he needs to, among other things, signal their names, which is...causing problems...
> 
> anyway...please don't think too much about the setting lol my headcanons are...not very structured o)-<

“Again,” Akashi says. “Your form is atrocious.”

“Fuck that,” Kagami replies. Two seconds later he’s face-first in the sand, the searing pain on his side another reminder that none of these assholes are going to give him any rest. He can see Akashi standing dangerously close, peering down at him. “I mean, you’re here. That means I did it correctly, didn’t I?”

Then he yelps, feeling the point of a foot dig hard into his injured side. Akashi folds his arms delicately as he speaks. “As disappointed as I am in your penmanship, Kagami Taiga, yes, I am here. _However_ , do not think for one moment that I do not detest being summoned like that. And as a matter of fact—”

“I haven’t been able to get Murasakibara to come out,” Kagami mutters, pushing Akashi’s foot away as he manages to stand up again. It’s stupid that even when he’s towering over Akashi that he still feels looked down upon. At the very least, it seems his admittance of the fact has softened the withering look on the other’s face just a bit. “I know, I know. Just…let me try again.”

“Very well.”

This time Kagami reacts in time to dodge the attack, which narrowly singes a few hairs. He curses and jumps back, his right hand already going through motions. Fire swirls blue in the palm of his hand, taking form into the shape of a sword. _Oi, Bakagami, why the hell are you calling_ me _?_

“Only because your name is easier to write,” Akashi replies to Aomine’s internal complaint, then rushes forward, meeting the sword with his bare arm. Of course he would do that, it isn’t like Akashi’s gonna die. Kagami grunts and pushes back, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Akashi’s other arm coming towards him. “ _Focus_ , Taiga.”

“Oh _hell_ no—“

He swings around to block the flames, but Akashi jabs at his shoulder painfully, and he loses his balance. At the last moment he stabs the sword into the sand, then twists away just as Akashi’s flames hit where he’d just stood seconds ago.

_Hey, that hurts!_

_Shut up and just help me, Ahomine_.

“If you only know how to dodge,” Akashi says, somehow appearing _right above him_ , “It will only be a matter of time for your brother to kill you. You _do_ know that, right?”

“Of course I fucking—“

Then Kagami sees Akashi’s left eye glow golden, and he gulps.

_Did you have to open your big mouth_ , he can hear Aomine grumble. _Jesus, Murasakibara, just get out there already!_

A petulant whisper answers in the back of his mind. _Don’t wanna._

“Oi, if _I_ die, _all_ of you die,” Kagami growls, suddenly flicking his sword upwards, stabbing at the space between them. Akashi is forced to back away, but Kagami knows he’s not done yet. The glint in his eye can only mean one attack is coming.

_Focus_.

This time, Kagami thinks about a shield as he traces Murasakibara’s name in the air, the strokes coming back to him like the first time he managed to drag the lumbering giant out of the seal on his arm. Reluctant as Murasakibara always is to fight, at least he isn’t on Haizaki’s level of difficulty in controlling.

This time, it works.

_Tch, annoying._

A spark of purple appears before his eyes, and then the barrier spreads before him, shooting upwards just as Akashi swings down his hand. The shifting sands part beneath their feet in a whirl as the beam of golden flame cuts across the air to meet the flames of the barrier. The ensuing impact throws Kagami backwards, and he grits his teeth as he feels the sand rub against his wounds. Still, as he looks up, he sees the barrier has held.

“Much better,” he can hear Akashi say, though he cannot see anything but dust.

“I hate all of you,” Kagami says, mostly truthful.

 

 

 

Even knowing the fact that Akashi _hadn’t_ really been trying kill him—…probably—Kagami can’t help but wonder if he’s got some other reason to be here. He washes his face in the shitty communal bathroom and cleans up, glad there’s nobody else here—the rest of his team had gone out to the training grounds earlier. Just as well—he’s the only one able to access the spirits’ mind-portal after all. And…

Akashi is waiting for him outside, handing him a towel as he comes out; he mutters a _thanks_ before proceeding to throw it around his neck. They walk down the hallway together, neither saying a word.

Kagami feels his entire body ache, the burn on his side still throbbing distinctly. He sneaks a peek at Akashi, whose smooth skin carries no visible wounds, no traces of cuts or burns or bruises. “I was wondering…”

“A scarce occurrence.”

“Hey!” Then, after a beat, “Why are you the only one who can appear like this?”

“Hm?”

“The others, they can’t, you know…” Kagami waves a hand around. Even with the other flame spirits becoming a part of his daily life, Akashi’s existence is still beyond his understanding, even with all the other theoretically physically impossible things happening around him. “Exist in the human world. Or whatever. It’s like they’re haunting my brain or something.”

Akashi gives him a mildly exasperated look as he pushes open the door to Kagami’s room. “I doubt your brain is an object anyone would find desirable to haunt, Taiga.”

“…So do you just appear to laugh at me, or.”

“I choose to appear because I want to make sure you fulfill your task, Kagami Taiga,” Akashi says, with some sort of finality that Kagami does pick up on this time, and so he closes his mouth. “Considering we are bound to you and would disappear should you die from unforeseen circumstances—“

“You mean Tatsuya.”

“Exactly.”

Kagami sits on his bed. Akashi does not sit; he has one hand on the chair near the window, looking outside at the grounds below. Undoubtedly thinking too long and too hard about something Kagami cannot and cannot bother to understand. Still, the sunlight on his face, the shadows on the ground where he stands, makes for a reminder that despite his (annoying) nature Akashi is _corporeal_ and not just a figment of his imagination. All of this had happened so fast that Kagami still wakes up every day half-expecting to be on a hospital bed from a lengthy coma.

But he is here instead, fighting for his life, and for answers. “There’s something different about you.”

Akashi doesn’t answer, but turns his attention from the window to him. This just makes Kagami more nervous, although now that he’s blurted out whatever’s on his mind (again!), there is simply no way to take it back.

(He wonders if—if he presses his thumb to the scarlet character etched upon his forearm, if Akashi would feel the call like the others do, but Kagami has never tried with him. Outside of battle Akashi comes and goes as he pleases, always.)

“Alex told me about ghosts once,” he continues. It’s partially true, though that particular conversation had arisen from pretty much the same confusion he’s currently experiencing. He has an inkling Akashi knows where this is going, such is that Kagami can see a shadow come over his face. “The more regrets they have in life, the more of them that stay behind. Something like that.”

He is met with silence. Kagami doesn’t dare look up (had he said something wrong again? It wouldn’t be the last time, honestly) for a few moments, but then he feels Akashi sit down next to him.

(Is that a sigh Kagami hears? Is he after all this time just a living, breathing human being masquerading as something else?)

“I will not explain it in detail,” Akashi says, his words chosen carefully, diplomatically, and Kagami feels his insides twist. “Because it does not concern your upcoming battle. Should you survive that encounter, I suppose it shouldn’t hurt to disclose the reason for my being here.”

“Are you telling me I’m not strong enough to know?”

Perhaps sensing the rising belligerence in his tone, Akashi jabs him in the shoulder, just above where his tattoos begin. “You are simply not ready.”

“Stop being cryptic,” Kagami grumbles, massaging his shoulder. But really, what had he been expecting? It’s not like any of them to speak so openly about their existences. Even Kise had quickly changed the subject after a _so like, are you guys still gonna hang around after I win this tournament?_ that’d slipped out of Kagami’s mouth a few weeks back. Maybe it’s too complicated for a mere mortal like him to understand, but… “Fine. You better tell me after this is all over.”

Akashi gives him a sidelong glance. “Yes.”

Well. Lying down on the bed, Kagami looks to the ceiling, at the fine cracks running across it. “You don’t think I’ll win?”

“I never said that.”

Kagami continues to stare at the ceiling, feeling the coolness of the ring on his skin. He thinks about the first time he met Tatsuya—the first time after all those years—and the old scar on his cheek, the one that had set everything in motion. Had the spirits already been watching since then? “You said unforeseen circumstances. Can’t you see the future, or something?”

He does not expect Akashi to lean in as well, so when he does so Kagami freezes mid-yawn. But the expression on Akashi’s face is neutral for once. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“What?”

“To make it clear,” Akashi says, slipping a finger around his chain and yanking him upwards, until they’re seeing eye to eye. If ghosts were smoke and mirrors, Kagami can definitely feel the heat radiating off Akashi’s skin, smell the fire and brimstone in the air. Though this isn’t the first time Akashi has so definitively invaded his private space, he can’t help but notice how close their faces are. “You are not dying on me.”

“Is that,” Kagami replies, trying to wriggle out of the enclosed space; he fails. “Supposed to be followed up with _I’m the only one who’s allowed to kill you_ , or something.”

The pressure on his neck lessens as Akashi pulls away. “A technical impossibility.”

“I could’ve died today.”

“But you didn’t.” Akashi traces a finger down Kagami’s chin, lifting it so Kagami is again looking up at him. The view, Kagami decides, isn’t too bad when Akashi isn’t actively trying to break every bone in his body. “Get some rest.”

“Hah?”

“You have an hour. When you wake up, finish the penmanship assignments on your desk.” He slips off the bed, legs bumping against Kagami’s when he does so. “We will continue training after dinner.”

“Oh,” Kagami says, touching his chin with his own hand. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Taiga, go to sleep.”

“Okay, okay…”

Akashi stops halfway through opening the door, hanging back. Even from this distance Kagami can still feel the residual tension in the air; mostly his fault, he supposes, but it does not stop him from hoping. “Though, in case you need me…”

“Yeah?”

Kagami feels the burn on his forearm, but this time he does not need to look to know what it is. He can also undeniably feel the heat on his face. “Oh. I…yeah, got it.”

The door closes.

(It had been faint, but had Akashi been _smiling_? He must’ve imagined that, surely.)

As he lays down on the bed once more, Kagami can hear someone sigh at the back of his mind. _Oh, Kagamicchi, this is_ painful _to watch—_

“Shut up, Kise,” he murmurs out loud, burying his head in a pillow. So much for getting any rest. The snickers he hears tell him he’s still a long, _long_ way from solving this newly arisen complication in his life.


	21. for king and country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he rides he thinks about the story his people whisper: there is a demon who lives in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm some kinda royalty+magic+demon au
> 
> this is extremely...extremely self-indulgent, contains vague allusions to other rarepairs i have etc., also this is for bent bc she listened to me scream and shitpost all through writing it. thank u
> 
> also please read the latest replace+ chapter (ch. 36) about yosen it will make everything make more sense, but basically it talks about a rumor that himuro's left eye can suck out people's souls which is why he keeps it hidden so this is where the au comes from ok BYE
> 
> **tw for death, eye horror, vague references to sex, spiritual cannibalism??? i don't know don't @ me**

His father used to say that an Akashi should never know fear.

Seijuurou can attest to that much, but he certainly knows curiosity and impatience. He’s seen the palace staff cower from him even more than usual as of late, even when he’s certain the growing annoyance has been masked from his face.

Still, it’s becoming increasingly clear that he would have to rectify the situation himself.

“Sire,” Mibuchi begins, face half-hidden in the shadows. He does not enter the room today. “There is still no word from any of them.”

It had been a fortnight since Aomine had vanished in his questing, and three since Seijuurou had seen Nijimura off with the elite regiment into the vast woodland beyond the borders of Teikou. If there had been time to send out messenger ravens before whatever had happened, they never arrived.

Seijuurou looks out the window, and from his vantage point the forest looms large in the distance, unmoving. Were he to look again in the morning, perhaps he could make some sense of the rumors being spread like wildfire across the realm.

Those rumors had already been festering long before his reign. It should have been the first thing he’s crushed, but it’s too late for regret now.

“Then,” Seijuurou says, extinguishing the flames in his fireplace, “Please ready my horse.”

The mist grows denser as he rides, but Seijuurou is not afraid. There is little difference between the forest in the morning and the forest at night, after all.

As he rides he thinks about the story his people whisper: there is a demon who lives in the woods.

Of course there are many variations of this story from village to village, some slightly altered version in every realm. A cautionary tale for travelers, truth notwithstanding; Teikou’s soldiers have cleared out most of the beasts and malignant spirits from the vast majority of its borders. Still, no traveler dares take the route into the heart of the forest, where few if any have ever entered or left unscathed.

It had been an trade issue, then one of placating the people. Who from his land or the kingdoms beyond the forest would risk the trek if all would simply vanish within the clutches of the forest?

No, he has to do this himself. For those who had been stolen away from him, if not for the people.

The branches reaching towards him blacken and crumble as he continues past, Yukimaru’s hooves thundering down a path that had not been there before. There is no demon here, Seijuurou is certain. The aura in the forest is human.

_—Crunch._

Seijuurou does not look at the bones.

Yukimaru rears up almost as soon as they are upon the gates of the mansion, though Seijuurou’s tight grip on the reins prevented anything catastrophic from happening.

Seijuurou barely has to blink for the lock to shatter with barely any resistance. It is then he knows the deed could not have been done with a spell; both of his captains would have been more than capable. A trap, and something else.

No matter. He slides off the saddle, and touches Yukimaru’s mane.

“Go,” he says. “I know the way back now.”

The air shivers with anticipation; Seijuurou could feel it in his bones as he walks through the meandering hallways. Nobody steps out to meet him, and he does not draw his sword. It does not matter, for the flames at his back have already spelled out his message.

He can see them now, in his mind’s eye: they are alive, but also not. Were it up to Seijuurou, a quick, merciful death would have been preferable. Maybe they had not been given the choice, or had chosen wrongly.

When the doors open he sees why they would’ve chosen so.

“Why do you close your eyes?”

The voice is silky smooth, and even his years of discipline could not shake the image from Seijuurou’s mind. His eyes stay closed as he walks forward, sword in hand.

“Are you here to save your men, your majesty?”

“I think you would know the answer to that.” He pauses, tilting his head towards the source of the voice. “I think it would be sensible to return what one has stolen, when faced with certain death.”

The room is cold, even though Seijuurou could see the hallway behind melting, dissipating into ash. A thoughtful hum answers him, and then the click of heels.

“Even when my supposed _death_ will not look me in the eye?”

He feels the rush of wind to his left and moves aside deftly, slamming his elbow into something solid. The sword clatters to the ground as Seijuurou’s fingers close around his neck, forcing him to the ground.

“Only on my own terms.”

Seijuurou opens his eyes.

The hair has shifted, and for once in his life Seijuurou thinks he knows what it means to have his heart skip a beat.

Only for an instant.

“I see.”

“Oh? So do I—I’ve been waiting _so_ long for a king,” he purrs, a hand over Seijuurou’s. There is a name, if Seijuurou digs hard enough, waiting to unravel at the tip of his tongue. “A king with _such_ unusual eyes. You’ve sent me many fine men over these months. Would I also have the pleasure of entertaining you here, Akashi Seijuurou?”

“A lesser man would have asked for such,” Seijuurou replies, unmoving. _Closer now_ ; he reaches in, and pulls— “And not from someone like you, Himuro Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya’s eye—and the other thing, the thing that is not an eye—narrow. Still, he smiles. “Someone like me.”

“There never was a demon in these woods,” Seijuurou murmurs. “Only a human too arrogant to believe he could get away forever with making a deal with one.”

Tatsuya’s laughter echoes throughout the room, like silver bells. “You are here for their souls, are you not? I can do that—for a price.”

“A king does not bargain.”

Tatsuya’s fingers curl around Seijuurou’s wrist almost mockingly, making no attempt at resistance.

“But a demon will,” he whispers.

A shudder: “We’re not so different after all, aren’t we?”

There is fire, he knows this much. Even when Tatsuya’s body is warm and languid beneath his the sharp coldness of his eyes— _both of them, now_ —stay the same. Seijuurou has never known mockery so bold, but there will be a time and place to deal with that.

For now, he takes a tribute.

“I do not have what you seek.”

“Only a partial truth,” Tatsuya says, his breath hitching as Seijuurou leans in, teeth sinking into taut flesh. His teeth scrape against the metal links against his skin, cold and still. “You have no soul, that’s true.”

“And you have no conscience.”

“Like I said before...”

“I heard it the first time.”

If for the first time Seijuurou feels a real resistance under him he does not care. Soon the flames would take care of the rest, bones and all. He does not need magic to see what inert forms are chained upon the far wall.

“I’ve always wondered if this would work on a demon,” Tatsuya tells him, fingers digging deep into the small of Seijuurou’s back. Not even the fingers swiping across his lips erases the smile. “Now I know.”

“Now you know,” Seijuurou replies. The flames have reached his feet, tickling his toes. He presses his lips upon Tatsuya’s, pushing forward until the smell of charred silk and feathers fills his nostrils, a soft moan sending chills down his back. _Yes_. “And now, I take what is mine.”

Tatsuya does not scream, does not say a word when Seijuurou reaches into the cavity, grasping only for the tiniest of moments, then sure. When he pulls out he feels the sensation of sweat, perhaps for the first time, and then he looks at the palm of his hand.

The fire will not hurt him. Tatsuya’s eyes are closed, but his lips curve upward into a smile as Seijuurou’s fingers find his neck once more, sliding underneath the chain.

“Maybe I was too optimistic about the outcome,” he says.

Seijuurou kisses the lid of his left eye, brushing the bangs back in place. “You were.”

Long ago, someone used to tell him: _let them learn to fear you, or else._

The fire has long since died down around him, leaving whispers of smouldering embers on his skin. Seijuurou stands among the ashes, listening to the trees groan and shiver.

“Go back,” he tells his retainers.

He will not ask if they remember anything, when one look into their eyes is enough.

When they are gone, Seijuurou bends down, sweeping his fingers through the bone-dust until he finds what he is looking for. The silver chain is cold to the touch, but he does not mind.

He might have heard laughter when he turns the ring over, or it might have simply been the wind. Seijuurou leans back, looking into the morning light penetrating through the mist, and raises it to his face—

—his eye, as golden as the sun, swallows it whole.


End file.
